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THE STEP-MOTHER 






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THE STEP-MOTHER 


MRS. ALEXANDER 

I 

Author of “ Barbara^ Lady's Maid and Peeress” “ The Cost of 
Her Pridcy” A Fight with Fate” etc. 



PHILADELPHIA 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

1900 




41306 

Copyright, 1899, 

BY 

J. B. Lippincott Company 



•CCONDOOPY. 

Electrotyped and Printed by J. B. LippiisicQTt Company, Philadelphia, U.8.A. 


A-2i W o 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


¥¥ 

CHAPTER I. 

I 

“I DO wish they would ask Mr. Merivale to sing, ’ ’ , 
said a fair young lady in lilac to a dark one in yellow. 
They were sitting together in a corner of the music room 
at Forestfield, Sir Thomas Hillton’s place in Loam- 
shire, after a large dinner-party, whereat the members 
of his house-party and his nearer neighbours had been 
feasted. 

“Which is Mr. Merivale?” asked Miss Coates, who 
wore the yellow garment. 

‘ ‘ That tall, rather slight man, with an orchid in his 
button-hole, who is speaking to Lady Hillton,” returned 
Miss Barton, her interlocutor. 

“How very nice-looking he is ! But does he sing? 
Isn’t that an unusual accomplishment for a rich man of 
business ?’ ’ 

“Yes, I suppose so ; but- when I was staying in town 
with my aunt, last spring, I heard him sing at a concert 
in aid of the Sisters of St. Joseph at Kensington, — you 
know they have a Home for the Aged Poor. His voice 
is quite heavenly.” 

“He looks very distinguished. Is he staying here? 
If so, I suppose he will be in church on Sunday, ’ ’ said 

5 


6 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


Miss Coates, who was the Vicar’s daughter. “ I wonder 
if he would sing the solo in the anthem at our Harvest 
Festival ?” 

“ You ought to ask him, Ethel.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, dear, no ! I could never summon courage 
enough. He seems quite a fine gentleman, — yet he 
looks pleasant enough. See, he is speaking to Cynthia 
Hillton.” 

Now, Cynthia, the eldest daughter of the house, was 
little more than fifteen, and still under the tutelage of 
her governess. She had no fear of fine gentlemen before 
her eyes. She had just said, earnestly, — 

“ I do wish you would sing, Mr. Merivale. They say 
you sing delightfully.” 

‘ ‘ I hope you will think my singing delightful when 
you hear it,” returned Merivale, smiling. “ Come, Miss 
Hillton, if you will play my accompaniment I shall be 
very happy to sing. ’ ’ 

“Me !” she exclaimed. “ I dare not attempt such a 
thing. I love hearing music, but cannot play a bit. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I am afraid, then, you do not try, ’ ’ shaking his head. 

“That is the secret of Cynthia’s failure, I fear,” said 
her mother, with an indulgent smile. ‘ ‘ She only cares 
to be out of doors, riding or rambling about the woods, 
or ” 

‘ ‘ I will find some one to play for you, ’ ’ interrupted 
Cynthia, with a nod. “Been is in the next room, 
mother, isn’t she? She was talking to Mrs. Sands a 
minute ago. ’ ’ And Cynthia went off quickly, through 
the doorway behind Lady Hillton’ s chair. 

‘ ‘ I hope Miss Hillton will not trouble any one to play 
for me !” exclaimed Merivale. “ The fact is, I am very 
fastidious about my accompaniments, and it is rather 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


7 


trying to tell a young lady she cannot play ; indeed, very 
few can, especially an accompaniment.” 

” I believe Deen Vesey plays remarkably well. I am 
no great judge myself ” 

” Dean Vesey ? What an honour, to have a dignitary 
of the church for an accompanist !” 

Lady Hillton laughed. “A natural mistake,” she 
said. “Deen Vesey has a rather unfortunate name. 
She is a cousin of my husband’s, and is very musical.” 

“ It is a curious appellation, certainly,” began Meri- 
vale, and paused — for Cynthia reappeared, followed by 
a lady who produced a suddenly soothing effect on the 
fastidious Merivale. 

Above middle height, a slender but rounded figure, 
her head was gracefully set upon her shoulders and 
crowned with loosely-piled dark brown hair, flecked with 
glints of red gold, and large, expressive eyes which some 
thought grey and others hazel. Her brow was broad 
but low, and the face narrow to a delicate but clearly 
defined chin. 

The lady wore a dress of soft, creamy white, the 
bodice cut in a long open point, and a necklet and 
bracelets of jet. 

She was somewhat pale, but beautifully fair, and both 
face and figure had a look of ripe womanliness incon- 
sistent with early youth. 

“Yes, Mr. Merivale!” cried the unceremonious 
Cynthia; “Miss Vesey will play for you. Mr. Meri- 
vale — Miss Vesey.” 

“You are infinitely good,” began Merivale. “But 
— a — I am a nervous sort of fellow and easily put out, 
if — a — accompanied by a stranger, so I may give you 
trouble ’ ’ he paused. 


8 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“I quite understand,” said Miss Vesey, in a low, 
sweet, sensible kind of voice. “If I do not suit you, 
you must not hesitate to say so.” 

“What will you sing?” asked Cynthia. “ There is 
a lot of music in the stand by the piano there ; you will 
find something, I am sure.” 

“ It is a very miscellaneous collection,” observed Miss 
Vesey, smiling. “ Let us see.” 

They turned over the contents of the stand with run- 
ning comments upon the songs they found, Merivale 
perceiving that his companion knew what she was talk- 
ing about. 

“There is nothing I can undertake here, except this 
rather trivial song of Verdi’s, ‘ II balsamo del suo sor- 
riso.’ I can try it. I suppose my audience is not very 
critical. ’ ’ 

“ By no means,” returned Miss Vesey. She placed 
the music on the piano and touched a few chords, then 
passed into the prelude, and Merivale began the well- 
known air. 

His voice was a rich baritone and had been carefully 
trained. Full of passionate expression and infinitely 
melodious, his singing was a treat to any lover of music. 

Every one listened with fascinated attention, and when 
the last note died away, the accompanist looked up with 
a radiant smile which chased away the pathetic ex- 
pression her face always wore in repose, and exclaimed, 
with frank admiration, “What a delicious voice! 
What a grand gift !” Merivale felt infinitely flattered at 
this natural, unaffected tribute to his power of charm- 
ing. 

“It is something to be grateful for, if I can give 
pleasure to such an accomplished musician as you evi- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


9 


dently are,” said Merivale, warmly. “ Doj'^u not sing 
also ? You play as if you did.” 

‘ ‘ No ; I never studied singing. I have little or no 
voice, and not having much time to myself I thought it 
wiser to give all I could to the piano, — it is so useful to 
be able to play at sight and accompany songs. ’ ’ 

They fell into a discussion of a subject which inter- 
ested both, and roamed from compositions to composers 
and performers till Lady Hillton interfered. 

” Been, my dear ! Is there not something else there 
that Mr. Merivale can sing? It is such a treat. We 
are naturally greedy for more. ’ ’ 

“No, my dear Lady Hillton! You have a curious 
collection of ballads and old music-hall songs here. 
But let us persuade Miss Vesey to give something sooth- 
ing out of the storehouse of her memory. I feel sure it 
is abundantly filled.” 

‘ ‘ Oh ! I am most happy to play as long as you care 
to listen,” and she began to play softly the opening bars 
of a dreamy nocturne. 

This delighted Merivale, but was a little over the 
heads of her other listeners. 

“It’s all very well, those runs and chords and die- 
away trills, ’ ’ said the sporting father of Miss Barton. 

‘ ‘ I like a good rousing tune you can beat time to. My 
girl plays a march — her music-master composed it — tl^at 
the band of our Yeomanry Corps gives in first-rate 
style. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ What a difference between the voice and the piano, ’ ’ 
said his daughter to her chum. 

“ And such a voice I” sighed Miss Coates. 

Altogether the evening was unusually interesting, even 
exciting, to the performers. 


lO 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ How mellow and full of feeling his voice is,” mused 
Deen, as she bruShed her long hair previous to going to 
bed. ‘ ‘ He must have a heart to sing from. He has 
travelled a good deal, too, with well-opened eyes. I 
have never lost the sense of loneliness so much as this 
evening, since the dear father went to his rest. What 
terrible isolation there is in the idea of having no home! 
I must really write to Miss Lievere, and try to come to 
some arrangement with her. I must have some little 
place I can call my own if it is only a space twelve feet 
square. ’ ’ 

Merivale, leaning out of his window to smoke a last 
cigar, and enjoy the warm, fragrant stillness of a fine 
September night before going to rest, thought with satis- 
faction that he was in excellent voice, although he had 
not sung for some time. ‘ ‘ She plays deucedly well, ’ ’ 
he said to himself. “She has the power of forgetting 
herself in the singer she plays for to a degree I never 
met before — an invaluable quality — is a very taking girl 
altogether — not a regular beauty, by any means, but 
lovely. Yes, that’s the word. Head well set on and a 
delicious throat. Perfectly free from self-consciousness, 
too. I must find out all about her. She was not at 
dinner. I could not have failed to observe her. Where 
did she come from ? My lady said she was a cousin. 
She does not look like a poor relation. ’ ’ 

He hummed the air of “II balsamo del suo sorriso,” as 
he threw off his dressing-gown. “ Gad, there’s lightning 
in her smile,” he murmured, interrupting the song, 
‘ ‘ and no mistake ; lightning well calculated to strike a 
responsive flame. I must write to Park Crescent for 
my portfolio of favourite songs. Old Mrs. Benson can- 
not fail to find it. That’s the advantage of method.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


II 


The next morning was all a morning ought to be in 
order to lighten the burdens which press upon the hostess 
of a large house-party. Bright sunshine, balmy air, and 
enough of it to temper the sultry September heat. 

The men started soon after breakfast for the moors 
which were near the domain. Lady Hillton had arranged 
to drive her lady guests over to see the show-place of 
the county, — a ducal residence at some distance. 

Merivale (who, though not a bad' shot, was by no 
means an ardent sportsman) had a large amount of 
neglected correspondence to pull up, so excused himself 
from joining either party, and disappeared to his own 
room when the ‘ ‘ guns’ ’ had started. 

He was a keen, wide-awake man, with sharp sight and 
quick hearing, and had caught the following dialogue 
while standing in the breakfast- room window behind the 
sheltering sheet of The Times. 

The first voice was that of Lady Hillton, the re- 
spondent’s that of Miss Vesey. 

“ Deen, my dear, I am so sorry, but Mrs. Sands feels 
her rheumatism so severely to-day that she cannot leave 
her room. I am afraid I must ask you to stay at home 
to look after her. She says she he2irsj/ou better than 
any one. You don’t mind, do you?” 

“Oh, no !” laughing. “Though it is not the most 
agreeable mode of spending a fine day.” 

“My poor Deen ! Do I martyrise you? You shall 
get away in the afternoon. Take that report of the 
Sunday-School Mission (it is on my writing-table) down 
to the Vicarage after luncheon. Then you can escape.” 

“Thank you. It is so fine I will avail myself of the 
loophole. ’ ’ 

“So shall I,” thought Merivale, beating an unob- 


12 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


served retreat with his paper to study an inviting city 
article before beginning his correspondence. 

It was a curious blend of character and occupation, 
that of a shrewd banker, quick to observe every flutter 
and change of that most sensitive organization, the 
money market, a man of taste, fairly well cultivated, and 
an artistic musician. Yet all these dwelt together in 
unity in Horace Merivale. 

His grandfather, a quiet, capable man of the lower 
middle class, built up a great banking business which 
expanded largely under his father’s management, and 
certainly suffered no diminution at the hands of the 
present administrator of Merivale & Son, Limited. 

Horace Merivale was lucky in most things. Educated 
at Eton and Oxford, he had been early adopted by the best 
class of his companions in both places, and was greatly 
liked by those whom he liked, rather than generally popu- 
lar. He rode and shot well enough to pass muster with 
devotees of sport, and, though not given to play, could 
lose his money like a gentleman. 

One passage of his life, however, had been over- 
shadowed by a cloud, a slight “ little cloud like a man’s 
hand” — unhappily, too like a man’s hand. He had 
married, some years before, a pretty, penniless girl, who 
for a while was the envy of her compeers. She was very 
gentle and silent ; nevertheless, under her husband’s 
training, she was beginning to take her place in social life, 
when she fell into a condition of nondescript delicacy 
which obliged her to spend a good deal of the summer 
at their pretty country-place in Kent, where Mr. Meri- 
vale used to run down from Saturday to Monday, her 
winters with her mother, in the south of Italy, and the 
early spring in various sheltered spots, with a southwest 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


3 


aspect. There never was the slightest scandal respecting 
the relations between Merivale and his wife, but people 
said it was very unfortunate for him; and when after 
some years of this life she died, nearly two years before 
this story opens, every one felt she had done the best 
she could under the circumstances. 

Merivale himself was more a favourite than ever, espe- 
cially with great ladies, — not that those of humbler pre- 
tensions withheld their favour, — and to high and low the 
accomplished banker was equally gracious. 

He stood high in Lady Hillton’s estimation and re- 
turned her regard, for her pleasant, easy, “ woman-of-the- 
world” tone suited him. Sir Thomas, a typical English 
country gentleman, overlooked his accomplished guest 
as ‘ ‘ too fine drawn a chap’ ’ for him. 

Having written a carefully thought out letter to his 
chief manager, Merivale put down his pen and thought 
for a while, — not of the rise in Indian railways, or African 
mines, or even a reduction of the bank rate, but of the 
long white fingers which touched the notes of his accom- 
paniment last night, as if the soul of the player was tem- 
porarily lodged in their taper tips. 

‘ ‘ She isn’ t a governess, ’ ’ he argued to himself, ‘ ‘ or 
Lady Hillton would not call her by her queer Christian 
name. No, she must be a poor relation ; they always 
are the utility women in a country house-party. But 
she — Miss Vesey — is more than ordinarily useful. I 
should like to secure her services for the term of my 
natural — voice ! What have I not suffered from indif- 
ferent players ? She is a gentlewoman — thoroughbred, 
indeed — and a well-matured woman ; none of your glib, 
giggling school-girls. I wonder who she is ? Of course, 
it would never do to think seriously of her. I hope I 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


H 

have outlived the folly of falling in love ; besides, I 
scarcely know her ; but I begin to fear that moneyless 
women want ballast. The whim of the moment is every- 
thing to them, — they know they are of no great impor- 
tance !” 

He rose, gazed through the window, sniffed the de- 
lightful odour of the garden beneath, and returned to his 
letters. 

When the luncheon-bell rang and released Deen from 
her attendance on the deaf lady, who declared her inten- 
tion of going to sleep for the afternoon, she found only 
Merivale to share the mid-day meal with her. 

‘ ‘ Then you did not accompany our hostess and her 
party ?’ ’ he said, drawing out a chair for her and pro- 
ceeding to attend to her wants instead of leaving these 
to the care of a sombre butler. 

‘ ‘ No. I stayed to talk with Mrs. Singleton. Lady 
Hillton and her guests, after inspecting the wonders of 
Clifford Castle, were to lunch at Ravenscourt and re- 
turn by Greybridge. It is a beautiful drive.” 

‘ ‘ If you please, sir, ’ ’ put in the butler, ‘ ‘ Sir Thomas 
desired me to ask if you would like to ride this after- 
noon ?’ ’ 

Merivale hesitated a moment. 

‘‘You ride, I suppose. Miss Vesey ?” he asked. 

‘ ‘ I regret to say I do not. ’ ’ 

“Thank you. No ; I shall probably go to meet Sir 
Thomas and his friends on their way back,” said Meri- 
vale to the butler, and luncheon proceeded, with some 
intermittent talk. Miss Vesey was very easy to get on 
with. She had travelled a good deal and kept her eyes 
open, and found many subjects to discuss with her com- 
panion. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


15 

^ * Are you obliged to return to your charge ?’ ’ asked 
Merivale, as they rose from table. 

“No,” she returned, smiling; “ I am going to the 
Vicarage.” ^ 

* ‘ Am I intrusive if I ask permission to accompany 
you ?’ ’ 

“Oh, no ; not at all. I shall be glad of your com- 
pany,” said Miss Vesey, frankly. 

Her easy, natural tone pleased Merivale, who was 
accustomed to more empressement in the ladies for 
whose company he showed a preference. 

‘ ‘ Thank you very much. How soon shall we start ?’ ’ 

“ In half an hour. I want to catch Mrs. Coates, the 
Vicaress, before she goes out. Oh ! Mr. Merivale, I 
looked through that pile of music this morning more 
carefully, and found one or two songs that might suit 
you. Will you look at them now ?’ ’ 

“ I will not delay you, for the truth is, having found 
such a treasure of an accompanist, I ventured to write 
home for my own music, presuming on your good- 
ness. ’ ’ 

“ I am so glad. I enjoy your singing, and have been 
rather starved in the matter of music for some months.” 

“Ah ! You seem as fanatico as I am myself.” 

In high good-humour with each other they started on 
their walk, and, somewhat to Merivale’ s regret, found 
the Vicaress at home. She persuaded him to look at 
the school-house, to which an addition was being built, 
and before he escaped he had promised a donation to 
the fund for improving and enlarging the premises. He 
thought he saw the shadow of a smile in Miss Vesey’ s 
eyes, though her lips preserved her usual pathetic gravity. 

He ***** * 


i6 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


The following evening brought a bulky parcel addressed 
to H. Merivale, Esq., and after dinner there was, in Sir 
Thomas Hillton’s opinion, a plethora of music. Also 
there was frequent morning practice, and Lady Hillton 
took advantage of such exceptional attraction to give two 
or three impromptu dinners, which greatly enlivened the 
neighbourhood. 

“ Why did you ask that fellow Merivale to stay over 
the twentieth ?’ ’ asked Sir Thomas, during a brief tHe-a- 
tHe interview with his wife. “ Young Jeffries is coming 
on the twenty-first, and I don’t know where you are 
going to put him.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, leave that to me. The yellow room in the 
east wing can be made quite comfortable enough for a 
boy like that, accustomed to roughing it on the Indian 
frontier. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I don’ t want him shoved away anywhere. Remem- 
ber what a trump he was to our Jim when he met that 
accident out tiger shooting. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Of course, I know ; but pray leave things to me. 
I am particularly anxious not to hurry Mr. Merivale 
away. ’ ’ 

“ Hurry him away? Good Lord ! he has been here 
nearly a fortnight. Somehow, I don’t care for him much. 
He ” 

“ My dear ! He is quite charming, so easily amused, 
so interesting and well-informed ; quite a host in him- 
self.” 

Needless to say that the young Indian lieutenant was 
‘ ‘ shoved away’ ’ into the dull, rarely used ‘ ‘ yellow 
room,” though most warmly welcomed, and to him his 
lodging was of small importance. 

“ I think you said your very charming guest. Miss 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


17 


Vesey, is a relative?” observed Merivale to his hostess 
a few days previously, as he assisted her to gather flow- 
ers for the table in the pretty pleasure-ground which 
surrounded the house on three sides. 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes ; her father and Sir Thomas were first 
cousins. ’ ’ 

” Does she reside with you?” 

“No, we should be very pleased to have her with us 
always, — she is an orphan, you know, — but she has some 
wild idea of living alone and teaching music or some 
such thing. Young women are so absurd nowadays.” 

“ However delightful music may be, I earnestly hope 
she does not depend upon it as a source of income ?’ ’ 

“Well, not quite. But she has very little. Her 
father was Rector of St. Olave’s, a London parish. Her 
mother died at her birth, and her father was obliged to 
give up work years ago from bad health, the result of an 
accident. He was a very clever, charming man. You 
may know his contributions to the ‘ Wednesday Review,’ 
‘The British Quarterly,’ and other periodicals of that 
class. He always signed them E. V.” 

“ Yes ; I remember those initials.” 

‘ ‘ They lived chiefly abroad. He died rather suddenly 
nearly two years ago. Since then she has been living 
about with friends and relations. ’ ’ 

“ Not a very delectable style of existence.” 

“Well, no. I should be very glad if she would 
make her home with us. ’ ’ 

Merivale made no reply. He was occupied in ar- 
ranging the flowers in a basket he held so that the blos- 
soms should not lie upon each other. 

“You might possibly be of use to Deen,” resumed 
Lady Hillton, — “you have such a large circle of ac- 
2 


i8 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


quaintance, — if she carries out her rather quixotic pro- 
ject of teaching.” 

‘ ‘ I should only be too happy ! Dare one broach the 
subject to her?” 

“Yes, I think you might. She is the frankest, most 
unaffected creature in the world. ’ ’ 

However, nothing was said on this head for the pres- 
ent. Frank and unaffected as she was, neither Merivale 
nor Lady Hill ton cared to take what might be construed 
into a liberty with her. So the days rolled on in a 
pleasant monotony. In due time Jeffries presented him- 
self. A tall, deep-chested, red-haired, boyish young 
man, straightforward and outspoken, though well-bred. 
He was soon quite at home, but specially attached him- 
self to Miss Vesey. He liked to hear her play Scotch 
airs and Irish ballads, but by no means appreciated 
Merivale’ s fine voice and admirable style. 

“Of course, I know he’s-jjjfV i. But I don’t care for 
foreign music. If you could see how delighted we all 
are to hear the old tunes away in India you’d understand 
the charm they have. Away at Dharavatra, there was 
a fellow, a nephew of Mr. Hay, the commissioner, — I 
mean Douglas Hay, the famous Shikari, — who used to 
sing ‘ Auld Lang Syne,’ and ‘ Scot’s Wha hae wi’ Wal- 
lace bled,’ and a lot more. Why, we used to keep 
him at the piano half the night. ’ ’ 

“Hay,” repeated Miss Vesey, dreamily. “I used 
to know a man of that name who was in the civil 
service !” 

“Oh, Douglas Hay is well known. He was awfully 
kind and hospitable to us when we were up in that coun- 
try. Young Hillton was nearly two months in his house 
after we got him down there. Hay had just come back 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


19 

from England. He didn’t care for home-life at all. He 
is a regular old Indian bachelor, you know.” 

” Not very old,” returned Miss Vesey, smiling. 

‘ ‘ Perhaps not. He might be any age. One might 
call him a sun-dried brick, for a brick he is and no mis- 
take, but hard as nails, lean and sinewy ; can do more 
work, stay longer in the saddle, and do with less sleep 
than any man in the province, — shouldn’t like to vex him, 
though !” 

“Is he very terrible ?’ ’ 

“Ask the men who serve under him. Yet they are 
deucedly devoted to him, all the same.” 

“An ideal pro-consul,” said Merivale, who had come 
up to where Jeffries and Miss Vesey were sitting under 
the shade of a large chestnut tree near the house and 
heard the last few sentences. “Forgive the interrup- 
tion, but Lady Hillton wants^^ know if you would be 
so good as to accompany Mrs. Sands to the station ? I 
have undertaken to drive the wagonette, but it seems the 
old lady asked for you especially. ’ ’ 

“Oh, yes ; I will come, of course,” said Deen, rising 
readily, and walking away to the house, with Merivale. 

“ By Jove !” ejaculated the deserted Jeffries, “I be- 
lieve she’s engaged to that stuck-up chap. He never 
leaves her in peace with any other fellow for a minute. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER II. 


Having seen Mrs. Sands safely deposited with her 
maid, her dog, and a neat little refreshment basket in an 
“engaged carriage,” and borne with much fault-finding 
as to the packing and disposal of her luggage, which 
the deaf lady made up her mind would be carried to 
Newcastle instead of to Southampton, its real desti- 
nation, Miss Vesey returned to the wagonette which 
awaited them in the station yard. 

“There is more than an hour to tea time,” said 
Merivale, as he handed her in’ “ Let us drive round by 
Ravenscourt. At this season we ought to improve the 
shining hour, as we cannot count on much more of this 
fine weather, ’ ’ 

“Very well. It is a charming day.” 

“ It is. Go by the upper road,” said Merivale to the 
groom who held the reins, as he followed his companion 
into the carriage. “Alas !” he continued, as he spread 
a light summer rug over their knees, “my charming 
days are almost over. I cannot in decency stay after 
next Thursday.” 

‘ ‘ Ah ! I am so sorry ; my poor music will be mute 
once more, and my fingers stiffen. ’ ’ 

“Your music does not depend on me. Miss Vesey. 
It is part of your being, though sympathy does won- 
ders for one. I feel I have never sung so well as to your 
playing.” 

“Thank you. Probably your singing inspired me.” 

20 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


21 


“ What a gracious reply ! Ah ! if ” He stopped 

abruptly, and a sudden turn of the road brought them 
into the full glare of the afternoon sun, and Miss Vesey 
seemed too much occupied opening her parasol to no- 
tice his pause. 

He was more silent than usual for the rest of their 
tHe-^-tete drive, and when they spoke it was chiefly of 
a new operatic star. Miss Vesey thought she would 
rise to the highest rank. Merivale was doubtful of her 
ultimate success. 

“Why, where have you been?” cried Lady Hillton, 
when they reached Forestfield and presented them- 
selves in the large inner hall where tea was going on. 

‘ ‘ The day was so fine we were tempted to return by 
Ravenscourt,” said Merivale, blandly. 

“ I never saw the country look so beautiful,” added 
Miss Vesey. 

“ Yet it was not exactly ‘ distance which lent enchant- 
ment to the view.’ Eh, Mr. Merivale?” asked his 
hostess with a little nod and smile. 

“ It was a large ingredient in the beauty,” returned 
Deen, as she took a cup of tea from Lady Hillton’ s hand. 
“ It was so clear we could see the Welsh hills.” 

“Take your tea, Merivale,” said Sir Thomas, who 
with the rest of the party were assembled round the 
table. “We are all going down to the stables, for my 
neighbour. Colonel Everard, is getting up a race for 
hackneys at the October races, and we want to choose 
the most likely of my lot.” 

The conversation became strictly horsey, and the men 
soon went off, deeply interested in the coming event. 
Cynthia and a young friend strolled out to the tennis 
courts, and her mother was left with Miss Vesey. A 


22 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


pause ensued, during which the latter drew a letter from 
her pocket and opened it in a thoughtful way. 

‘ ‘ What have you there, Deen ?’ ’ asked Lady Hill- 
ton. She was a nice-looking woman, but not absolutely 
pretty, with small, bright eyes, and an animated ex- 
pression ; thoroughly a woman of the world, but quite 
ready to do a kindness if it did not cost her too dear, 
and exceedingly pleasant as a wife and mother, even 
while she got her own way almost invariably. 

“ A letter I want to tell you about, and I rarely have 
a chance of speaking to you alone. ’ ’ 

“ Well, I am at your service now.” Lady Hillton 
rose and rang to have the tea removed. ‘ ‘ Come into 
my sanctum, and let me hear everything.” 

The little morning-room looked out over a corner of the 
pleasure-ground into the leafy depths of a wood which 
at that point approached the house. It had a sheltered, 
secluded air, as if specially suited to impart secrets in. 

“ My letter is from Miss Lievere,” began Deen, when 
they had made themselves comfortable in easy-chairs. 

“ Oh ! your friend who made you that splendid offer 
to be resident music-teacher in her new establishment?” 

“Yes. I am sorry to say that there have been two 
cases of scarlatina among the pupils, and she will have 
to break up until after the Christmas holidays. It will 
be a terrible loss to her. ’ ’ 

“Yes, no doubt. I am very sorry on her account, 
but not on yours, Deen. It would be quite silly of you 
to commit yourself to the drudgery of such an appoint- 
ment when you can make your home here. No, non- 
sense. It is not wonderfully good of us ; it is all selfish- 
ness. You could be a great help to me. Next year, 
you know, Cynthia must come out, and Mollie is close 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


23 


upon her heels. I can scarcely leave her to a mere 
teaching governess. She must have a well-bred com- 
panion, and who would be better than yourself ? You 
could relieve me of many cares. Then you are a 
sensible person, to whom I could say, ‘ There is no 
room at dinner for you, dear, to-day,’ and then you 
have your little income for ’ ’ 

“Yes, you are kind, Lady Hillton, and I am not un- 
grateful, but I want to lead a more definite life, to estab- 
lish myself in some distinct line of bread-winning which 
would not be affected by the varying circumstances of 
an adopted family. In fact, real independence is essen- 
tial to my happiness. ’ ’ 

“ I wish, my dear Deen, you were not so steeped in 
these modern notions. The best independence is mar- 
riage with a nice man of good fortune, and with us you 
have a chance of that !’’ 

“ I have had many chances, Lady Hillton,’’ returned 
Deen, laughing, “ but they never came to anything.’’ 

“ Your own fault, my dear, I am quite sure.’’ 

“Perhaps ! In an abstract way, I prefer matrimony 
to spinsterhood, but you know how I was situated. At 
all events, believe me, it is not wise to commit yourself 
to an outside addition to your family. You can never 
tell when that addition may become a burden. Then 
time flies fast. If I do not begin soon, I shall find my- 
self in that twilight middle age, when few women can 
get work, before I have established a clientele. No, my 
dear Lady Hillton, not even the cheery comfort of your 
attractive house can tempt me from my determination to 
win my own bread and make a nest, be it ever so small, 
for myself.’’ 

“A wilful woman must have her way. Tell me, who 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


24 

is this Miss Lievere who seems to have cast a spell upon 
you ?’ ’ 

“ A lady I knew in Rome some years ago. She was 
then professor of history in Barkston College, a girls’ 
high school, but was obliged to give up work because 
she was overworked. Rest and warmth quite restored 
her, and she has now embarked in a school of her own. 
This is an unfortunate beginning for her, but I think she 
will succeed. She is clever and very agreeable. What I 
will gratefully accept from you and Sir Thomas, Lady 
Hillton, is your hospitality until Miss Lievere can take 
me in or I can find some other engagement which seems 
as promising as what she offered. ’ ’ 

“ I suppose that is all you will let us do for you. At 
least, it gives us a little time,” returned Lady Hillton, 
thoughtfully. ‘ ‘ Sir Thomas will be very cross when I 
tell him how obstinate you are. It would be very triste 
to \osQyou and Mr. Merivale at one and the same time. 
He goes on Wednesday, to join a lai%e party at Lord 
Eversdale’s. I believe the Russian ambassador is to be 
one of the guests. I am sure he would like to take you 
with him.” 

“ Oh, very likely,” said Deen. “ I flatter myself he 
will not find an accompanist who will suit him better 
than I do.” 

“I am sure thinks so,” with emphasis. “Well, 
Deen, we must give you your head this time. Go, my 
dear, and rest till dinner-time. You are looking rather 
white and tired.” 

Deen took her advice, and went with deliberate steps 
to her own room. She had been longing to be alone 
ever since her tete-cL-tHe with Jeffries in the grounds that 
afternoon. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


25 


Some voice kept murmuring in her ear, over and over 
again, the young fellow’s words, “Douglas Hay is a 
regular old Indian bachelor.’’ How well she remem- 
bered this now well-known Douglas Hay when they 
were boy and girl together, in the old days when her 
father was an active, benevolent, eloquent parish priest, 
before a bad accident had produced internal trouble 
which destroyed his health and obliged him to relinquish 
active duty. Hay was one of a large family. His father 
was agent to the most important estate in their neighbour- 
hood, and the Rector’s lonely little girl was the favourite 
playmate of his younger children. Douglas was her 
senior by six or seven years,; — her favourite friend, her 
champion, and sometimes her tyrant. How clearly his 
face came back to her, as she sat dreaming in a low chair 
which invited her to repose. He was a tall, bony young- 
ster, with somewhat aquiline features and a mouth which 
gave rather a hard look to his face till advancing years 
improved his expression by bestowing on him a large, 
soft, dark moustache. His brow was broad, and below 
it a pair of big hazel-brown eyes that could look loving 
or angry or reproachful — or imploring. Deen recalled 
them with an indulgent smile at the almost forgotten 
tenderness it evoked from the dim shadows of the past. 
It was amazing that she should be able to live over 
again so vividly that moment of half-fear, half-rapture, 
when, having passed his examination with brilliant suc- 
cess and feeling sure of his future. Hay avowed his love 
for her with a passion and eloquence such as she had 
never expected to hear from his lips, for he was reserved 
by habit and extremely simple in speech. Then came 
the bitterest moment she had ever known, probably ever 
would know, when, having partly perceived, partly 


26 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


learned from the doctor that her father could not con- 
tinue to do his work, or hold his living, and that poverty 
and suffering would be his future lot, she explained to her 
lover that she could not accept him, — could not permit 
him to bind himself to a girl so overweighted by a 
troubled and difficult future. 

Douglas Hay was overwhelmed, shocked, indignant. 
He was a little too sure, perhaps. Gradually it dawned 
upon her that Hay’s wounded amour propre sought 
solace in believing that Deen did not think him a good 
enough match. Yet deep in the inner core of his heart 
he knew that no chord of selfishness wrought discord in 
his playfellow’s loving nature. Still, he added the gall 
of misunderstanding to the bitterness of difficult and 
imperative duty. 

“What ages ago it all seems ! Oh, how miserable I 
was ! How I used to fancy I never could smile again, 
but I did ! How long it is since I gave Douglas a 
thought ! How glad I am I did not listen to him ! He 
would have been restless under the fetters of a long, un- 
certain engagement, — and oh, thank God, I stayed with 
the dear father ! What could he have done without me ? 
The thought of the peaceful years we spent together is 
my best comfort now. ’ ’ 

A mist of loving tears clouded her eyes and her 
thoughts for a few minutes, and then clearer ideas came. 
It was a pity Douglas had not married. He would not 
have grown hard if he had had a wife and children to 
keep his heart tender. He certainly was inclined to be 
hard and a little imperious, yet how kind and good- 
humoured he used to be to his young brothers and sis- 
ters, how gentle and considerate to his mother ! Her 
death must have been a blow to him. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


27 


“ I wonder what he looks like now. Why, I cannot 
have heard the dressing-bell ! The clock is chiming 
quarter-to-eight, and it is quite dark. ’ ’ 

For the rest of his stay Lieutenant Jeffries was much 
flattered and charmed by the favour Miss Vesey bestowed 
upon him. True, there was something motherly in her 
kindness, but he did not perceive it. He only knew 
that a sweet, gracious, and in his eyes lovely woman was 
always ready to listen to his talk about hunting big game 
and camping in the jungle, and of poor Jim Hillton’s 
misadventure with the tiger, and how Hay shot him (the 
tiger, not Jim) in the nick of time ; also, she was always 
ready to sew a button on his glove, or find the book he 
wanted in the library. In short, the promising young 
officer adored his delightful new friend as a knight of old 
might the peerless lady to whose service he had vowed 
himself. 

Deen found she missed Merivale more than she ex- 
pected. If his singing delighted her, his conversation 
was quietly interesting. He had read and seen much, 
and if his views were not original, they were intelligent, 
especially on politics, though rather too conservative for 
Deen’s taste. 

The accomplished banker had not left more than a 
couple of days when the post brought Miss Vesey a 
parcel of new music, some lovely nocturnes and sere- 
nades, — dreamy reveries and wordless ballads. Some of 
them she had longed for, but could not afford to buy. 
Now she uttered a little cry of delight as she opened the 
roll and glanced at the titles. 

“Ah ! here is a letter from Mr. Merivale,” opening 
one which lay beside her plate. They were at breakfast. 
‘ ‘ He says that looking for some new songs, he found 


28 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


these pieces and thought they might interest me. How 
very nice and kind of him. He is really too good ! I 
must try these over at once and write to him to-day. 
I am ever so much obliged to him. ” 

‘ ‘ A charming little piece of politesse, ’ ’ said Lady 
Hillton, smiling. ” I will come and listen to your per- 
formance, Deen, as soon as I have seen Mrs. Dobbs. If 
■you write to Mr. Merivale to-day, pray tell him to stop 
at Forestfield on his way back from Eversdale and hear 
you recite (that’s the word, isn’t it?) his charming con- 
tribution to your repertoire.'^ 

‘ ‘ I shall give your message. I should like to play 
over these things to him. He has such excellent 
taste. ’ ’ 

“No question about that,” cried Sir Thomas, with a 
grin. ‘ ‘ Eh, my lady ?’ ’ 

“He is quite famous for his taste. Indeed, he is 
rather an exceptional man,” she returned, seriously, in 
a warning tone. “Do you know, dear, that Hughes, 
the head keeper, is waiting to see you ?’ ’ 

“No, I did not,” said Sir Thomas, rising. “What 
the deuce does he want ?’ ’ and he left the room. 

Such a message as Lady Hillton’ s, of course, brought 
a prompt reply, and perhaps the best consolation to 
young Jeffries, when forced to leave his present paradise, 
was to know that he should escape seeing Miss Vesey 
absorbed by that conceited ‘ ‘ snuff- the-moon’ ’ of a fellow, 
Merivale, before whom every one gave way, because he 
was so confoundedly rich ? 

“ May I write to you when I go back to India?” was 
part of his valedictory speech. “You won’t think it a 
bore to answer my letters ?’ ’ 

“ No ; by no means. I shall be very pleased to hear 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


29 


from you, and mind you work hard at Hindoostanee. 
You will never get on unless you work.” 

“ You’ll see. I’ll work like a nigger, and if I see May 
I’ll tell him I met an old friend of his, — but. Miss Vesey, 
he must be ages older than you are ?’ ’ 

“ No, indeed ; you don’t know how old /am.” 

“ Old? You will never be old. Not if you lived to 
a hundred. Oh ! there’s the dog-cart. It’s horrid to 
say good-bye. I’ll never forget how good you have 
been to me. Coming, Sir Thomas.” And he was gone. 

These preliminaries must not be too long drawn out. 
These are not the days in which a reader’s patience 
can be played with. The choice is too varied, the 
supply too abundant, not to make him master of the 
situation. 

Merivale returned, and repeated his delightful exper- 
ience of his first visit. Moreover, he seemed to have 
suddenly taken a high place in Sir Thomas Hillton’s 
favour. They constantly walked, rode, and shot together. 
A very small party was staying at Forestfield, and life 
was very easy and untrammelled. 

Been had grown quite familiar and at home with Meri- 
vale. She had even talked of her secluded, wandering 
life with her father, and of his occasional literary work, 
which was such a source of pleasure to him. 

“ E. V. !” exclaimed Merivale. ” I certainly remem- 
ber papers in some of the magazines with those initials. 
Have you any of his contributions at hand ?’ ’ 

“Yes, a few ; but I have a full list of all he ever 
wrote. I was his secretary, — everything to him. What 
happy days those were ! I ne’ er shall know their like 
again,” said Deen, with a sigh and a smile^ She rarely 
alluded to herself or her past. 


30 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“I earnestly hope,” returned Merivale, “that your 
brightest days are yet to come. ’ ’ His voice was low 
and tender, and for the first time the idea that he felt 
more for her than ordinary friendly sympathy, arising 
from similarity of taste, first dawned upon her, — an idea 
that sent a slight shiver of uneasiness through her heart 
and made her cheek grow pale. 

But she put the thought aside. Many men had shown 
similar symptoms, but either because of insufficient 
means, or seeing how closely she was bound to her 
father, they did not develop beyond indefinite admir- 
ation, save in one or two instances where reciprocity on 
her side was impossible. 

She was by no means sure she felt towards Merivale 
as she would wish to feel towards a husband, and — no, 
she was too conceited. Mr. Merivale would no doubt 
look for rank, for high connections, in marrying. 

The next tribute which Merivale laid at her feet was 
above all offerings, one that delighted and captivated her. 

He had been for some time in London after his last 
visit to Forestfield, and beyond a few lines to Lady Hill- 
ton had made no sign. 

The family were now free from visitors and the ladies 
engaged in preparing for the usual winter charities, when 
a letter reached Deen which brought her the fulfilment 
of her deepest and most cherished desire. 

“ Dear Miss Vesey,” — it ran — “ I have perhaps been 
taking a liberty in acting without your knowledge or 
consent concerning a matter which is, I think, near your 
heart, and therefore interesting to me. 

‘ ‘ When you sent me the list of your father’ s essays 
and the periodicals in which they had appeared, I took 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


31 


a copy of it, and on my return to town I collected the 
various publications and had the pleasure of reading 
them, enjoying the keen perception, the delicate hu- 
mour, the poetic fancy, which illuminate Mr. Vesey’s 
pages. Not depending on my own judgment, I sub- 
mitted them to a well-known critic, and as he agreed in 
my estimate, I have obtained permission of the different 
editors to republish the collected papers in a volume, and 
arranged with Messrs. Brown, Younger & Co. to pub- 
lish the work before Christmas. The business details 
you had better probably leave to me, but you may like 
to look through the papers, and perhaps prepare a brief 
memoir as a preface to the volume. I therefore write 
by this post to crave a renewal of Lady Hillton’s ever- 
ready hospitality, and I shall bring down the precious 
packet on Thursday at latest. 

‘ ‘ In acting thus without your knowledge or consent, 
I hoped to save you the worry of uncertainty and wait- 
ing, and I trust my motive will plead my excuse for 
taking the matter into my own hands. 

‘ ‘ Though I have no great expectations in that direc- 
tion, I hope the little venture may prove a financial 
success. 

‘ ‘ Looking forward to the great pleasure of seeing 
you and receiving plenary absolution, I am, dear Miss 
Vesey, “Yours very truly, 

“Horace Merivale.” 

Deen’s heart beat quickly as she read these lines ; she 
flushed and grew pale with the pleasure and emotions 
at this most unexpected fulfilment of her heart’s desire. 
She could hardly command her voice to tell her friends 
the great news. 


32 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ Merivale is a brick, and no mistake!” cried Sir 
Thomas, heartily. 

“ He will be most heartily welcome,” said Lady Hill- 
ton, looking up from her letter. ‘ ‘ I shall write and tell 
him so by the first post. Deen, you are a very lucky 
girl I” This with emphasis, which brought back the 
colour to Deen’s cheek again. The speech might mean 
only that she was lucky in finding so active and potent 
an ally, but somehow her ladyship’s tone suggested 
something more. 

“ I am, indeed. I do not know how I can ever thank 
Mr. Merivale enough for his great goodness. He has 
made me his debtor for always. ’ ’ 

“It is so well done, too, ’ ’ continued Lady Hillton. 
“ He could not be more delicate and chivalrous had he 
descended from a long line of Norman nobles. Go and 
write to him, dear, at once. We can catch the eleven 
o’clock mail from Welford. I want Mr. Merivale to have 
our letters to-night. He may start early to-morrow. ’ ’ 

Deen rose and carried off her precious letter to her 
own room. She could not answer unless alone. 

There she sat musing and recalling the pleasure her 
dear father, friend, companion, had in writing these 
essays. How the congenial work made him forget his 
frequent suffering, and how triumphant and joyous she 
felt herself, when the acceptance of his lucubrations 
arrived 1 What happy hours they had passed in these 
days of simple pleasure and careful economy I How 
childlike the dear father’s pride in being able by his 
work to add something to the comfort and grace of life I 
He would not have troubled about republication unless 
it meant some little luxury for his daughter, or some 
solid comfort. Now the whole world should know how 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


33 


fine a spirit had thought and loved and labored unrecog- 
nised in their midst ! 

What a good judge of literature Mr. Merivale must 
be ! He was a wonderful man. Oh, she must not sit 
there dreaming, — she would not have her letter finished 
in time. It should only be a very few liness. 


“ Dear Mr. Merivale,— It is impossible to express 
my joy and gratitude. You have, indeed, given me my 
heart’s desire. I shall be more composed and able to 
tell you all I feel to-morrow. I do hope you will be very 
happy yourself, and so be rewarded. ‘ Thine own wish — 
wish I thee !’ 

“ Always most sincerely yours, 

“ D. Vesey.” 

“ Is your letter ready?” asked Lady Hillton, coming 
into the room unceremoniously. 

“Yes, quite ; here it is.” 

“Very good. What are you going to do to-day ?” 

“ I promised Mrs. Coates to go down to the Vicarage 
and cut out some children’s under- things. She has a 
‘ Mothers’ Meeting’ to-morrow, and if the work is not 
prepared ’ ’ 

“ My dear, you’ll cut them all wrong !” 

“No, indeed, I shall not.” 

“Then, you are rather a remarkable woman.” 

“Why?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, I must not stay here talking. I am going to 
drive over to Welford myself. Those ponies are rusting 
for want of exercise, and I don’ t want to talk to you — at 
present. ’ ’ 


3 


34 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


‘ ‘ Why, what have I done ?’ ’ began Deen ; but, look- 
ing round, found Lady Hillton had disappeared, 

******* 

Deen hardly knew how the time passed until Meri- 
vale arrived the following day, just as the dressing-bell 
sounded. He looked younger and more animated than 
he had ever seemed before. 

When Deen shook hands with him, he said, in a low 
tone, — 

‘ ‘ A thousand thanks for your gracious letter !’ ’ 

At dinner, the project of publishing Mr. Vesey’s 
“ Letters” was naturally the subject of conversation, and 
Merivale repeated many ‘ ‘ bits’ ’ of observation and criti- 
cism exceedingly flattering to Deen’s filial affection. 
Later, she played some of the music Merivale had sent 
her, while Lady Hillton worked an elaborate piece of 
fancy-work, and Sir Thomas abandoned himself to a pro- 
found nap, but held an evening paper in his hand all the 
time. 

At breakfast next morning Lady Hillton, who looked 
the incarnation of ‘ ‘ Peace upon earth and good-will 
towards men,” said, smiling, “You two literary charac- 
ters can have the library all to yourselves this morning. 
It is ‘ bench’ day for Sir Thomas, and I am engaged to 
our Vicaress, so you may settle all publishing matters in 
peace. Really, the house begins to have quite a booky 
flavour. ’ ’ 

“Thank you. Lady Hillton. I have quite a large 
parcel and various propositions to lay before Miss Vesey, 
on which I hope she will deign to hear my advice, ’ ’ re- 
turned Merivale. 

‘ ‘ I shall be only too glad to follow it, if my powers 
permit ’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


35 


“ I do n9t think there is any ‘ if’ in the matter, but 
perhaps I am not a fair judge,” returned Merivale, and 
left the room to seek the precious parcel he had brought. 

A long and interesting discussion ensued as they 
turned over the pages so familiar to Deen, whose voice 
grew at times unsteady and her eyes moist as she recog- 
nised passages she had altered at her father’s dictation, 
for she seemed to hear his fine, sonorous tones repeating 
and contrasting the different modes of expression. 

“You will look through all these, then. Miss Vesey,” 
said Merivale, at length, “and arrange them according 
to the dates at which they were originally written ?’ ’ 
“Yes, that would be best. I have a journal in which 
I noted the beginning and end of each piece of work my 
father undertook, so I can easily arrange them. But I 
do not think it necessary to publish any memoir of him. 
He was so absolutely free from self-consciousness, his 
life of late years so tranquil and retired, that there seems 
no necessity to force his personality on the notice of 
readers who will care only for his thoughts. ’ ’ 

After arguing this question and viewing it on all sides, 
Merivale came round to Deen’s opinion, and there was 
a brief pause. Then she said, in a low tone, — 

“I do hope you know what heart-felt pleasure you 
have given me, Mr. Merivale?” He was standing by 
the table tying up the parcel the)*» had been examining, 
and did not reply immediately. Then he walked over 
to where she sat and drew a chair near her. 

' ‘ I only know I never undertook a task that interested 
me so keenly,” he said. “ And in your pleasure I have 
an ample reward ; but, apart from all selfish feelings, I 
think such work should not be lost in the obscurity of old 
magazines. Your father had a rare mind. Miss Vesey.” 


36 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


‘ ‘ He had, indeed ! I wish you had known him ; he 
would have liked you so much. ’ ’ 

Merivale smiled. ‘ ‘ I should have been very unhappy 
if he had not, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ I am not usually a timid or 
a nervous man, Miss Vesey, but at this moment — I — I 
scarcely know myself. I fear to be precipitate, yet I 
cannot restrain the impulse to speak. Hear me patiently. 
You have already wished me success in winning my 
heart’s desire, though you did not know it.” Been 
looked at him a little puzzled. ‘ ‘ When I received your 
gracious reply to my letter, the concluding words sent a 
wild thrill of hope shivering through me from head to 
heel. ‘ Thine own wish — wish I thee. ’ I accepted the 
words as a good omen. Their fulfilment rests with you. 
You are so calm, so indifferently kind, I fear you do 
not recognise feelings you have inspired. Do you not 
see that my supreme wish is to call you wife ?’ ’ 

” Is it — is it indeed?” cried Been, growing grave and 
pale. ‘ ‘ Oh ! do think how short a time we have known 
each other, and what an awfully solemn thing it is to en- 
gage yourself to any one for life !’ ’ 

“Yes, that is the sensible view to take, but ought I be 
ashamed to confess it ? I have left sense a long way 
behind, for I love you with all my soul. I venture to 
think I could make you happy, if I am not quite unac- 
ceptable. We have much in common.” 

“Yes, yes; it is very good of you to think of me 
and care about me, but I should like to think a little. 
You know that three months ago I did not know you 
existed. ’ ’ 

“You have every right to ask for time to consider, 
but ” 

“You ought to consider, too.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


37 


* ‘ Deen ! — I must call you Deen ! — I have done noth- 
ing but ‘ consider’ since the first week I knew you. 
Well, at all events, you do not reject me ?” 

“ No ! but I should like to love you as I am sure you 
deserve. ’ ’ 

“ And you do not?” 

Well, no ; I do not think I do, though you are so 
nice and kind, and ” 

” Deen, do you know what love is? Were you ever 
in love ?’ ’ 

‘‘Oh! yes,” she returned, brightening all over. 

‘ ‘ Long ago. When I was quite young. I wa^ very 
fond of an old playfellow, but we quarrelled, and he 
went away. ’ ’ 

Merivale laughed a laugh of relief. This was nothing 
very formidable. ‘ ‘ I wish you would try and love me. ’ ’ 

‘‘I do not think it would be hard,” she said, with a 
sweet smile and blush, ‘ ‘ but I must think. ’ ’ 

She rose and moved towards the door. 

‘ ‘ How long am I to wait ?’ ’ cried Merivale. Then 
catching her hand in both his own as she passed him, he 
kissed it lingeringly. “You must love me, Deen 1 I 
can be satisfied with nothing less. No quiet liking 
would content me. I want throb for throb as passionate 
a love as you have created in me.” 

Deen listened, amazed at the ardour of this reserved, 
self- restrained man, and little less surprised by her own 
responsiveness. 

“To-morrow. I will tell you to-morrow. But I 
should like to speak to Lady Hillton. ’ ’ 

“Yes, of course. Consult any one, but be really 
guided by your own heart, and remember how I hang 
on your decision.” 


CHAPTER III. 


The drift of Lady Hillton’s advice may be imagined. 

She had too much good taste to urge her prot^g^e 
vehemently to seize so excellent a chance, but she dwelt 
on Merivale’s many admirable qualities, his disinterested 
affection, his high character, and much more to his 
credit. Now, Deen had had not a few admirers, but dis- 
tinct offers of marriage were rare. She well knew that 
poverty and “followers,” as severe mistresses formerly 
termed their handmaiden’s relations and lovers, were 
very serious checks to the ardour of most men, and 
Merivale’s warmth and devotion touched her heart, 
which was always ready to return gratitude for kindness. 

Then it was impossible to keep a man who deserved 
consideration at her hands waiting, as it were, on trial, 
when every hour of deliberation made the possibility of 
rejecting him more and more difficult. Merivale well 
knew how to avail himself of his position, and before 
the week was out, Deen, half-pleased, half-nervously 
fearful, had promised to be his wife, — nay more, found 
herself being hurried into preparations for her wedding. 

Merivale had endless excellent reasons for fixing an 
early date, urging them with many a long and passion- 
ate kiss, which made Deen feel she could never break 
away from a man who had dared to make her so much 
his own. 

Indeed, he was not of the stuff that fails, nor is it 
necessary to dwell on the various trifles which helped to 
38 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


39 


impel his fiancee into the bonds of wedlock more rap- 
idly than she intended. 

It was the first week of November when Sir Thomas 
and Lady Hillton, their two daughters, and the bride- 
elect went up to London, where the former rented a small 
house. Here they decided to have the wedding, as 
such a celebration in their ancestral home entailed much 
more fuss and show than any of the party liked. Here, 
in the parish church, on a dull, foggy morning, accom- 
panied by her two very youthful bridesmaids, Cynthia 
and Dolly Hillton, with Sir Thomas to do father, while 
her Ladyship acted mother very effectively, and half a 
dozen friends looked on sympathetically, Geraldine 
Vesey was transformed into Mrs. Horace Merivale. 

Though she had seen him nearly every day since she 
had accepted him, it suddenly seemed to her that she 
was going away with a strange man. So vividly did the 
shortness of their acquaintance present itself to her , she 
felt ashamed of her weakness, and comforting herself 
with the determination to be the best wife in the world, 
thus proving herself worthy of the affection so gener- 
ously bestowed upon her, she bid a smiling yet tremu- 
lous ‘ ‘ good-bye’ ’ to her kind kinsfolk and began the 
first stage of the life journey which lay before her. 

^ jjj 

“So Merivale has been and gone and got married,” 
said Grafton Sherrard to an acquaintance in the library 
of the Ramblers’ Club, a day or two after that event. 

“ You don’t say so ! I thought he’d never try that 
game again. ’ ’ 

“ I was not quite sure as to that. He was always a 

queer sort of fellow.” 

“Who is the happy or unhappy woman?” 


40 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“A Miss Vesey. The daughter of a country parson. 
A gentlewoman, though. She is a cousin — first, second, 
or third — to Lady Hillton. Was married from their 
house in Charles Street. Know Lady Hillton ?’ ’ 

“Yes; slightly.’^ 

‘ ‘ Pleasant, shrewd little woman ; gives you a capital, 
unpretending dinner, and you needn’t be afraid of talk- 
ing to her. The uncle is a very bucolic baronet, who 
never stays long in town. ’ ’ 

“You are very thick with Merivale, Sherrard. Tell 
me, what was the matter with the late Mrs. Merivale? 
They say she was touched in the upper story.” 

“Something of that sort. It was kept very quiet. 
You see, Merivale did not like any taint of insanity to be 
guessed at on account of his boy. ’ ’ 

“ He has a son, has he?” 

“Yes. No one ever sees him. He is kept down at 
Merivale’ s place in Kent.” 

“ Indeed ! Well, it was natural enough to keep mat- 
ters quiet, if he suspected his wife of insanity. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh ! he did not suspect. I fancy he was pretty 
sure. ’ ’ 

“ Deuced unpleasant idea. Well, I’m going down to 
Cornwall to-night, and have to dine with little Tom 
Fearon before I start, so good-morning. Bad business 
to believe one’s wife insane.” 

“Good-bye!” said Sherrard, turning to look for 
a “ Nineteenth Century Magazine” among a number 
which lay upon the table, thinking as he did so, ‘ ‘ Pref- 
erence for another man was proof positive of insanity to 
Merivale, I fancy. Poor beggar I She had a bad time of 
it, I suspect. 

“Wonder what the new queen of his heart is like. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


41 


Merivale has been deucedly close about it. He is gen- 
erally very confidential with me, and I always thought 
he would marry rank. So I suppose the second Mrs. 
Merivale is a stunner.” Here he found the desired 
periodical and became absorbed in a paper on the 
“ South African Diamond Mines.” 

Had not the ‘ ‘ upper ten’ ’ of social London been 
” dispersed abroad and given to the moors,” Merivale’ s 
marriage would have made more sensation, but his 
friends and allies, the duchesses and countesses who 
raved of his entrancing voice, and ‘ ‘ wonderfully good 
style, ’ ’ were walking across Scotch moors to lunch with 
the “guns,” or yachting among Norwegian fiords, or 
climbing the snow-clad slopes of the Dolomites, and had 
no time to read the society papers, even had they been 
able to obtain those valuable branchlets of the great 
journalistic tree. 

It was otherwise in the comfortable precincts of the 
roomy, rambling, country-house belonging to Merivale, 
in one of the fairest parts of Kent. 

Larch Hill had been bought (a dead bargain) by his 
grandfather, and Merivale’ s father had had influence 
enough to secure a station conveniently near his gates 
when the inevitable railway was made, which brought city 
offices and rural abodes into comparative propinquity. 

The house was built on the side of a hill, and, though 
enjoying a wide outlook, was sheltered by higher ground 
covered by a plantation of larch trees. The drive led up 
a steep ascent to the entrance, and at the foot of the hill 
a shallow stream babbled through a picturesque minia- 
ture glen. 

It was rather an old-fashioned, homely place, some- 
what neglected by its owner, whose tastes were more 


42 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


suited to town than to country life. Here was the home 
of his only child, a boy about seven years old, who 
had lost his mother while too young to remember her. 
A personage of severe, not to say adamantine respect- 
ability had been selected by his father to replace her, 
and under her doubtless judicious care the boy did not 
exactly thrive, — for he was a pale, small, delicate child, 
— but lived and grew slowly. 

His day and night nursery, and his nurse-governess’s 
bed and sitting-room, occupied an angle of the house, 
the rooms looking north and west, — that is, Mrs. Raikes’s 
apartments had a western aspect. 

The day after his father’s wedding was bright, but cold 
and windy ; the child was alone in his nursery, a tangle 
of toys on the floor, chiefly broken. He had climbed up 
on the seat in a projecting window, which looked out 
upon the larch trees, and leaned his head against it as if 
weary, while he twisted and knotted a long piece of 
string in a purposeless fashion. Occasionally he sang to 
himself snatches of -a hymn tune in a sweet, weak voice, 
that had in it no touch of childish joy. A very fair, 
blue-eyed mite, with regular, delicate features and tired 
expression. 

The room was large and abundantly well furnished, 
but rather cold, for the fire had nearly burned itself out. 

He had been sitting thus for some time when the door 
opened and a stout, broad-shouldered, country-looking 
girl of about fifteen or sixteen, with a mass of untidy red 
hair, a big, ruddy, good-humoured face, her sleeves 
rolled up, and a large, coarse apron tied round her, came 
into the room, carrying a heavy scuttleful of coals. 

Putting it down with a sort of groan, she stood upright, 
and, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, ex- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


43 


claimed, “It’s a deal too heavy for any girl to carry up 
all this way, and there’s a lot of lazy loons doing next to 
nothing, outside, as ought to bring up the coals, an’ 
would, too, for the asking. Why, you must be nigh 
perished. Master Cecil ; the room is quite cold ! I’d 
have come sooner if I’d known. I’ll make the fire.” 

“ Let me help you, Susan? I love to put coals on,” 
cried the child, jumping down and running across the 
room to her. 

“ Very well, only you must never do it when you are 
by yourself ; mind that !” 

“ Oh, no. Here ! Here’s a beautiful lump.” 

“It’s twice too big — stay — I must get some sticks.” 
Susan rose from her knees and went to a cupboard out- 
side the door, exclaiming, as she peeped in, “ Drat them 
sticks ! There’s never none in the place ! I’ll run down 
and get some. Don’t you let on to Mrs. Raikes that 
there weren’t any here !” 

“No, Susie ; that I won’t,” said the boy, earnestly. 

‘ ‘ And keep away from the fire, do. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I will.” 

Susan went off at a run, and as the sound of her steps 
died away Cecil crawled to the hearth, and seeing the 
tongs quietly abstracted a small piece of coal and pro- 
ceeded to drop it on the embers. It rolled in a vexatious 
fashion into a black hollow. The child, after some futile 
attempts to pick it up with the tongs, laid them down 
and was in the act of putting his little hand into the 
grate, when a strong, shrill, bitter kind of voice cried, — 

‘ ‘ Why, Lord a mussy ! what is the child doing ? Put- 
ting your hands in the fire, you nasty, dirty, stupid little 
toad. Do you want to get your hands burned, and me 
turned into the street after the life you’ve led me these 


44 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


five weary years ? Come up out of that. Show me your 
hands. ‘ Filth’ isn’t the word for them ! and all the coals 
and cinders about! Where’s that Susan? Rundown 
for sticks, I’ll be bound.” 

“Oh, no I” cried poor Cecil, unhesitatingly. “She’s 
gone for — something else ; the brush, I think. ’ ’ 

“Why, there’s the brush before your eyes. Where 
do you think you’ll go to. Master Cecil, telling lies like 
that? The very next time the master comes down I’ll 
tell him, and he’ll flog you, as he did the last visit he 
paid. I wonder what your new mamma will say to you 
when she knows what a liar you are ; — put you in the 
black hole to see if that ’ 11 cure you, where the rats and 
mice ’ll get you !” 

The poor, dirty, little hands quivered and pinched up 
his pinafore nervously. 

“But I didn’t know, Nursey,” he said, a sound of 
tears in his voice. 

“ Don’t talk to me ! There’s Susan,” as that culprit 
entered, “and two bundles of wood under her arm I You 
lazy, forgetful, good-for-nothing minx ! teaching this 
unfortunate child to lie like — like I don’ t know what I as 
if he wasn’t bad enough by nature.” 

“ I never told him to tell no lies, mum 1” said Susan 
sullenly, with a slightly reproachful glance at the boy. 

“ No, but you put him up to them. Susan, I knows 
you.” 

The speaker was a tall, thin woman, her hair iron grey, 
her face long, with a slightly hooked nose, thin lips and 
long, resolute chin. She held herself exceedingly upright, 
and wore a black cloth dress, and a dark-grey rough 
woollen cloak. A close-fitting velvet bonnet and a muff, 
both also black, completed her attire. She looked the 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


45 


type of respectability, — the sort of person you would 
trust with ‘ ‘ untold gold. ’ ’ After a few more candid 
observations Mrs. Raikes continued, ‘ ‘ Go, Susan, get on 
your afternoon frock, and stay with Master Cecil. I am 
obliged to go into St. Oswald’s, to see about a lot of 
things, and, as of course no one is at liberty to drive 
me, I must walk ; but I’ll take a conveyance back, for 
my heart gets that bad when I over-fatigue myself, I 
sometimes think I’ll drop where I stand ! Now, Susan, 
mind you take care of the child — don’t let him get him- 
self on fire, or ” 

‘“No, mum !’’ interrupted Susan, cheerfully. “We 
might go up as far as ’ ’ 

“ You’ll do nothing of the kind ! I never allow Mas- 
ter Cecil out with any one except myself. ’ ’ 

“Well, I’ll take every care, mum, and the poor child 
hasn’ t been out for nigh a week. ’ ’ 

“What’s that to you?’’ with a stamp of the foot, 

‘ ‘ everything rests on my shoulders, and I am not going to 
run any risks, I can tell you !’ ’ A pause ensued while 
Mrs. Raikes put on her gloves. “ See that he washes his 
hands, do Susan, and you can have a bit of dinner with him 
up here. Now, don’t you leave him or let him get into 
mischief ! Be sure you keep up my fire. I’ll be back 
at tea-time, and mind you have the muffins toasted by 
five o’clock.” Closing her lips with a snap Mrs. Raikes 
turned and left the room as abruptly as she came 
into it. 

Susan and her charge stood looking at each other for 
some minutes until the sound of her steps had died 
away. Then the former exclaimed, in an indignant tone, 

‘ ‘ Get into mischief, indeed ! I wish the dear lamb had 
the strength and spirit to do mischief, and I wish she had 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


46 

my brother Tom to take care of ; he would lead her a 
dance. Come along, Master Cecil. I’ll put on your 
hat and jacket, and I’ll open every window in the place. 
You shall have a breath of fresh air. We’ll run races 
up and down the long gallery. Look here, — here’s the 
big trumpet your gran’ ma sent you last Christmas. She 
hid it away on the top of the press. I’ll get it, and you 
make a jolly good noise with it !’ ’ So saying, Susan put 
a hassock on a chair, and clambering up reached down 
a tin instrument of torture, covered with dust, which 
Cecil clutched with rapture. 

‘ ‘ Give me a kiss for it, ’ ’ she added, descending to the 
terra firma of the floor. The child sprang into her 
arms. “ Oh, Susie ! it is nice to have you here. I do 
wish we could run away together, somewhere where Nurse 
wouldn’t be.” 

” I wish we could, my ducky. But, bless you, we’d 
starve before a week was out ! I’ll just run down and 
ask Cookie to make you a jam turnover, and another 
for myself.” 

“Oh, and Susie dear, bring up my poor kitty. Jet. 
Nurse cannot bear it, and I never see it. I am so afraid 
that wicked, big dog in the yard will kill it. ’ ’ 

“All right! You shall have your pussy. I won’t 
be two minutes.” 

Susan was as good as her word, and the poor little 
poverty-stricken heir of all Merivale’s wealth enjoyed a 
delightful spell of liberty and riot, of ear-splitting strains 
from the tin trumpet, and shouts from his own not over- 
strong lungs. 

But the joys of temporary emancipation were rather 
too much for his nerves, unaccustomed as they were to 
so much liberty, and after enjoying his dinner, a portion 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


47 


of what was served in the kitchen, — for, as Mrs. Raikes 
was out, nothing special had been prepared for young 
Master, and nearly consuming his turnover, — he was 
glad to lie down and sleep under an eiderdown coverlet 
carefully tucked round him, pussy purring himself to 
sleep in the bend of his thin little arm. 

Susan kept watch beside the sofa where he lay, till, 
soothed by the fading light, the silence and warmth of 
the huge fire she had kept up, she followed the child’s 
example and dropped into unconsciousness, her head 
falling against the end of the sofa in an excruciatingly 
uncomfortable position. 

From this state of blissful forgetfulness they were 
roused by the sound of heavy feet and loud voices. 
Mrs. Raikes had returned. She had been accommo- 
dated with a seat in the grocer’s cart, and had brought a 
rather heavy parcel, which the grocer’s man was obliging 
enough to carry upstairs for her. 

The grocer was a great friend of hers. He had been 
impressed with the belief that he owed Mr. Meri vale’s 
custom — an important item in his business — entirely to 
the influence of Mrs. Raikes, and recognised her im- 
portance, which he acknowledged in many ways. If he 
did not kill the fatted calf when she came into his em- 
porium “faint and wearily,’’ after walking the nearly 
two miles from Larch Hill, after all she had to do and 
to regulate in that establishment, he was ever ready to 
open a tin of tongue and a bottle of stout, or, if later in 
the day, Mrs. Jones was always ready to offer a friendly 
cup of tea and plate of buttered toast, with a taste of 
something stronger to keep the cold or the heat out, 
according to the season. 

“ Bless me, what a big fire ! and mine is just down to 


48 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


the last cinders. Why, that child will catch his death of 
cold, smothered up like that ! Here, Master Cecil, wake 
up !’ ’ tearing off the eiderdown roughly ; ‘ ‘ and that brute 
of a cat up here again! Fll — I’ll put an end to it if I 
see it here any more. ’ ’ 

Susan stood up, rubbing her eyes, and hardly awake. 

‘ ‘ Thank you, my man, ’ ’ proceeded Mrs. Raikes with 
a kind of cast-iron civility as she went into the next 
room. “Just put it into this cupboard,” and she took 
out a bunch of keys and unlocked a door in the paneled 
wall. “There’s sixpence to get a glass of beer. Our 
cook is not fond of drawing any for a stranger, so you 
needn’t go round to the kitchen rood. Just drive away 
straight down the avenue without speaking to any one. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Thank you, mum, ’ ’ returned the man with a grin, 
and clattered downstairs to a side entrance generally 
used by Mrs. Raikes. 

Then Susan was summoned, and, when the cat had 
been thrown downstairs, the fire lit, tea set, and the 
muffins toasted, Mrs. Raikes ordered Susan to give 
that child some bread and milk, and put him to bed 
for her. 

Mrs. Raikes’ s heart was that bad she couldn’t stand 
no “worriting.” 

Then — having demolished many muffins and enjoyed 
several cups of tea, well sweetened and mellowed by rich 
cream, for Mrs. Raikes was one of those tall, naturally 
thin, bony women who can absorb a large amount of 
everything without putting on flesh or suffering in any 
way — she carefully folded her out-door garments and put 
them away, donned a warm morning gown and slippers, 
looked through her savings-bank book, locked it away, 
visited her charge, saw that he was fast asleep, dismissed 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


49 


Susan, and, leaving the door between her own room and 
the child’s half-open, took from her bag the local paper 
of that day, and composed herself to read the details of 
a thrilling murder as she sat with her feet on the fender. 

All sounds having died out and half-past nine struck 
by the stable clock, she laid down the paper, went softly 
into the chamber of her sleeping charge, watched his 
profound rest for a moment or two, and returning un- 
locked her cupboard, took out a kettle with a spirit lamp, 
a bottle of colourless liquid with other ‘ ‘ materials, ’ ’ as 
paddy terms the ingredients of his favourite tipple, and 
with an experienced hand prepared herself a fragrant 
tumbler of gin-and-water duly flavoured with lemon peel. 

She sat long over this and one or two additional 
glasses, musing with a contented expression as if recall- 
ing the good deeds of an exemplary life. 

In truth, she had done well for herself, a childless 
widow ; she had had a hard life of privation and loneli- 
ness, till taken into Mrs. Merivale’s service, when her 
baby was about two years old ; then came her first 
chance ; she was a capable woman, and contrived to 
make herself almost indispensable to the young mother, 
who was neither very healthy or happy. The gradual 
growth of her mistress’s confidence, the jealous suspi- 
cions of Merivale, worked together for the “right-hand” 
woman’s advantage. 

Among Mr. and Mrs. Merivale’s many acquaintances 
was a young and briefless barrister, who claimed distant 
relationship with the wife. He was smooth of tongue 
and not much worse than his neighbours. His pity was 
stirred by the patience and grief of a neglected wife, and 
he began, without thought of possible result, to cheer and 
interest her. 


4 


50 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


In truth, Merivale was infinitely disappointed in his 
marriage. He fancied he had found a partner who would 
not only be an ornament at the head of his table, but a 
clever lieutenant to assist him in his social schemes, espe- 
cially as her mind seemed a fair white page on which he 
could write what he liked, and she seemed to have no 
will save his. 

Having, however, no power to take the initiative and 
a somewhat indifferent gift of observation, she constantly 
made mistakes which he bitterly resented, and she found 
herself an object of indifferently veiled contempt. 

Growing more and more careless of his wife, Merivale 
did not notice the increasing intimacy between her and 
her kinsman, and so the mischief ripened till the unfor- 
tunate woman found the day intolerable on which she did 
not hold some communication with the one faithful friend 
she possessed, — as yet he seemed no more. 

At last Merivale’ s suspicions were roused, difficulties 
arose, and interviews could rarely be arranged. Then a 
correspondence began, — a very ordinary, commonplace 
story. Mrs. Raikes was too much trusted by her mis- 
tress ; she found it profitable to range herself on the side 
of virtue, and nip vice in the bud by sharing the confi- 
dence placed in her with the husband. At last the lover, 
who was not a bad fellow, saw that the greatest service 
he could render the woman, of whom he was really very 
fond, was to leave her, and accept an appointment in 
the colonies. Once more, however, they must meet, 
and look into each other’ s eyes, once more listen to the 
voice now so rarely heard. 

The rendezvous arranged itself for them. Mr. Meri- 
vale went out of town to breathe fresh air at Larch Hill, 
and his ‘ ‘ detested rival’ ’ called as if to pay an ordinary 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


51 


afternoon visit. The moment of parting came all too 
quickly, and, overcome by despair at the gloomy out- 
look, the unhappy wife threw herself into her lover’s 
arms, to weep farewell upon his shoulder, when, strange 
to relate, the door was opened by Merivale, who stood 
still, an evil smile on his lips, to contemplate the tab- 
leau. 

No public tragedy ensued, however. Merivale’ s in- 
tense self-love and vanity found a safer and more subtle 
revenge. He chose to consider his wife slighly insane. 
For her cure constant movement and fresh scenes were 
recommended. She was given into her mother’s charge, 
and that meek-spirited and impecunious matron — duly 
informed of her daughter’s misconduct — was only too 
thankful that her child was spared the shame of a public 
trial. So she took up her cross, and wandered to and 
from the various continental health-resorts in all respecta- 
bility and comfort — for Merivale never objected to spend- 
ing his money. Once a year in summer time both ladies 
did penance by a brief residence at Larch Hill, where, 
to save appearances, Merivale joined them. Then, and 
then only, the poor young mother saw her boy, — saw 
him under the keen eyes of Mrs. Raikes, the only crea- 
ture whom Merivale’ s wife ever hated. 

It was a cruel existence, but mercifully not prolonged. 

On these by-gone events Mrs. Raikes reflected long, 
and not without satisfaction, for much mental arithmetic 
was mixed with her meditations, and the sum total was 
comforting. ‘ ‘ Anyway, I won’ t starve if the new wife 
manages to turn me out. But, law ! she ’ll be no fonder 
of the boy than his father, and glad to leave him to me ; 
stay until she has a boy of her own, then she ’ll feel he’s 
in the way. He’s a poor, weak, tiresome brat. Lord ! 


52 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


what nonsense people talk about children, — ^little angels 
and precious lambs ! Of all the tiresome, useless toads, 
its children ! And the clothes they wear out ! I’ll have 
to get that boy some more vests, and I daren’t ask Mr. 
Merivale for any more money just yet. I hope the bride 
won’t take it into her head to be motherly and worry 
over his clothes. But most ladies are easy to frighten, 
and I’ll hold my head pretty high, — after having had 
control of everything all these years !” 

Her eyes turned on the smoking tumbler which stood 
beside her. She took it up and drained it slowly. 

“That’s good,” she said to herself. “ How good ! 
It makes one feel sort of kindly and comfortable. I 
could not get on without it no way. Shall I take an- 
other? No ; I must keep the power to stop, or I’ll go 
to pieces. I haven’t feathered my nest warm enough 
to lie in and do nothing yet a while. I daren’ t let my- 
self go for a while yet. ’ ’ 

She rose, opened the window to let the fumes of her 
tumblers disperse, carefully washed the glass she had 
used, poured the water away, locked up her little 
spirit kettle, and leaving the window open to the last 
moment retired to rest, and slept as though she had 
been the justest of the just. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Merivale and his bride enjoyed their honeymoon 
fairly well. They had some tastes in common, and 
suffered less from the bewildering break in their usual 
habits and pursuits than most people, for they were for- 
tunate in possessing divers objects of interest. 

Deen’ s various wanderings with her father had not ex- 
tended so far as Sicily, and there they determined to 
spend the time allotted to that very trying trial trip which 
inaugurates the prolonged voyage of matrimony. 

The genial warmth of a peculiarly fine winter made 
them wonder, when the menu of the table-d^ hdte dinner 
bore the well-known names of “plum pudding,” and 
‘ ‘ mince-pies. ’ ’ They had scarcely realized that they 
were passing through the season which at home was as- 
sociated with frost and snow, or mud, mist, and piercing 
wind. 

This kindliness on the part of sun and atmosphere 
enabled them to make many excursions, and Merivale’ s 
almost boundless range of acquaintance supplied suffi- 
cient society among the English and American winter 
sojourners at Palermo to prevent the unbroken tHe-d-tHe 
which many a newly-wedded couple have found so dis- 
appointingly wearisome. 

All went well. Deen was well content, but not ex- 
actly rapturously happy. Her husband was an agree- 
able companion, and a more ardent lover than seemed 
quite natural to his character, but it was curious that on 

53 


54 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


no subject was his conversation so interesting to her as 
on finance. Here he was thoroughly at home, and pro- 
foundly interested. There was an earnestness in his talk 
on this topic quite different from the slightly artificial 
tone in which he spoke on others. 

On his side, her attention and intelligent appreciation 
of what most women considered dry and commonplace 
charmed and surprised him. 

“You shall have a little flutter on the Stock Ex- 
change when we go back, my love, ’ ’ he said, smiling, 
one evening as they were returning from a moonlight 
stroll ; “just to give you a practical lesson in finance. 
I did not think you would care for so mundane a 
matter. ’ ’ 

“ I think your explanations, — the sort of breadth with 
which you treat ‘pounds, shillings, and pence,’ — have 
shown me finance in an entirely new light ; but I have no 
ambition to dabble in stocks and shares. Money has 
always been too precious to me from its scarcity to be 
lightly risked.” 

‘ ‘ A very safe view. I am afraid that financial reasons 
will oblige me to curtail these delightful hours of idleness. 
We are going into some operations of importance, which 
require my presence towards the end of February, and 
we will need some time in Paris, especially for shopping. 
You had better take that opportunity to arrange about 
your presentation dress, and others, for I should like 
you to be presented at one of the first drawing-rooms, 
and that means a succession of dinners and festivities of 
all kinds.” 

‘ ‘ I suppose so .’ ’ Been was eminently sociable and 
quite free from shyness. Drawing-rooms and dinners 
sounded acceptably in her ears. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 55 

“But ought I not to get most of my things in 
London ?” 

“ Why? Nothing comes up to Parisian millinery. “ 

“Yes, it is charming, but I fancy they are too repub- 
lican to dress one for court. ’ ’ 

“You must take advice about that. After all, Eng- 
land is the only true republic.” 

“Tell me, Horace, why you have not gone into Parlia- 
ment. I am sure your knowledge would be most useful 
in the council of the nation.” 

‘ ‘ Thank you ! Politics have never tempted me, but 
I may take to them some day.” 

Soon after this conversation the newly-wedded pair 
turned their steps homeward. Paris detained them 
longer than they had intended, and Deen was half- 
frightened at the amount of money Merivale insisted on 
her spending. 

“ I can never use all these garments,” she exclaimed 
one morning when, having drawn a big cheque for her 
use, Merivale suggested some further purchases. 

“ Wait till you have gone through a London season ! 
As to absolute need, I grant you have more than enough, 
but you confer an obligation on me by keeping yourself 
in the front rank of style and fashion. Given the gar- 
ments on a wearer such as you are, and my vanity or 
pride will be amply satisfied. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ What a charming speech !’ ’ cried Deen, smiling. 

‘ ‘ I am ready to wear cloth of gold after it. But, Horace, 

I want to take your boy some present from this empo- 
rium of pretty things. I saw some sweet boys’ costumes 
at ” 

‘ ‘ I would not trouble about him, ’ ’ interrupted Meri- 
vale, hastily. ‘ ‘ I leave his dress and everything else to 


56 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


a capital woman who has been about him from his baby- 
hood. He has all he can possibly want. ’ ’ 

“No doubt ! but a present is such a joy to a child. 
I shall take him some of those wonderful mechanical 
toys I saw yesterday. I want him to grow fond of me, 
so I shall begin by making a good impression. He is 
seven years old, is he not ?’ ’ 

“I think so; not quite seven, but near it. I am 
afraid you will never make much impression on the 
child,” Merivale paused, and a look of annoyance came 
into his face. ‘ ‘ Unfortunately, he is not very satisfac- 
tory ; he is a little weak in intellect, nervous, and rather 
untruthful. The fact is, his poor mother’s brain was not 
very sound. That is why I so rarely mention her ; in 
fact, it distresses me to do so.” 

“Naturally,” said Deen, in a low, sympathetic tone. 

‘ But your boy is so young, we can do a great deal for 
him. You must let me help you in that.” 

“You are very good, my love ; but I fear if he lives 
to grow up he will disgrace me. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I cannot anticipate anything of the kind. He must 
have some of his father’s nature, and will develop into 
an honourable man.” 

‘ ‘ God knows ! Pray do not run away with any 
ideas of treating him on a ‘ system. ’ It is hard to fight 
against Nature.” 

‘ ‘ It is, indeed ! But I only ask to help Nature. Great 
tenderness and care may soothe his nerves and strengthen 
him to speak the truth.” 

“ I doubt it ! According to Mrs. Raikes’s last report 
he seems to be developing a violent temper. He at- 
tacked her and bit her hand severely the other day, on 
some trifling provocation. ’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


57 

‘ ‘ May I see the letter ? I have been reluctant to ask 
before, as you did not offer.” 

“Oh, yes; of course,” feeling in his pockets. “I 
must have left it in my dressing-case, but you shall see 
it.” 

‘ ‘ Thank you !’ ’ she paused, and went on thoughtfully. 

‘ ‘ I feel greatly interested in this poor child — chiefly, no 
doubt, because he is your son, dear, but also because he 
needs such loving care. We must do the best we can 
for him.” 

“ I always have done the best I could,” said Merivale, 
impatiently. 

His wife prudently dropped the subject. 

%t0 

The seriousness of matrimony pressed more and more 
upon Deen as they drew nearer her future home. She 
was in no way morbid or nervous, but her quick sym- 
pathy gave her a strong perception of what her associates 
felt of the impression she was making on them — and she 
recognised the high standard of taste, of perfection in 
look and manner, and general effect to which her hus- 
band expected her to attain. Had she been younger 
and less experienced, this consciousness would have in- 
sured failure. As it was, Deen had formed her own views 
on many matters ; though thinking highly of her hus- 
band and earnestly desirous of keeping the affection she 
had won, she was by no means dominated by his 
opinions. Amiable and complacent as he had hitherto 
been, she was conscious that somewhere or other, veiled 
by the golden mist arising from the glow and warmth of 
new-born passion, there was a gulf between him and 
herself, but she put the vague feeling from her, think- 
ing there were quite sufficient points of resemblance to 


58 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


secure comfortable companionship. At any rate, she 
would do her utmost to make him happy. He well 
deserved this from her. 

Evening had closed in when they reached Meri vale’s 
house in Linden Gardens, S. W. , a newly-built mansion 
of the most correct Queen Anne style, which faced the 
grass and trees of Hyde Park, near its junction with 
Kensington Gardens. 

The hall and reception rooms which occupied the en- 
trance floor were brilliantly lit up, admirably decorated 
and furnished with excellent taste, but all looked as if 
they had never been lived in except the library. Libra- 
ries never do present the look of desolation other rooms 
do when unused. 

‘ ‘ I trust you will like the house, my dearest, ’ ’ said 
Meri vale, assisting his wife to take off her cloak. ‘ ‘ I 
have ventured to have your own special rooms refur- 
nished without consulting you. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I am quite sure you wanted no hints from me. 
From what I remember of them, when you took Lady 
Hillton and myself through the house, they did not want 
refurnishing. You take too much trouble about me. I 
must run away and see them this moment ! Come with 
me. 

The rooms were charming, and Merivale was highly 
pleased by his wife’s appreciation of his taste and 
thoughtful attention. 

Then came dinner, admirably cooked and served, and 
Deen, carefully dressed, and slightly flushed by the ex- 
citement of ‘ ‘ coming home, ’ ’ looked all a man could 
wish as an ornamental figure at the head of his table. 
Then she was such a delightful listener. Merivale’ s im- 
agination presented a vista of successful dinners, with 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


59 


such a wife to receive his guests and such a chef to pro- 
vide for them. Why, his entertainments would be the 
talk of the town ! 

With instinctive tact, Deen resisted her wish to speak 
of her husband’s boy ; she would let nothing cloud Meri- 
vale’s evidently happy mood. He should always be 
able to look back to their first evening at home as a 
pleasurable memory. 

But to-morrow she certainly would speak. Merivale 
was to resume his business life on the day succeeding 
his arrival in London, and his wife must take up her 
duties. 

She was up betimes the following morning to preside 
at breakfast. Merivale was alert and rather eager to be 
off ; evidently business was by no means distasteful to 
him. 

Deen felt curiously averse to touch on what seemed in 
some unaccountable way to be a vexed question. She 
was determined, however, not to let any vague cowardice 
keep her back from facing this mysterious difficulty. 

“ As I suppose you will have your hands very full at 
first,” she began; “shall I write to Mrs. Raikes and 
tell her we are here arid to bring up the boy to see us ? 
— for I do not suppose you will care to go to Larch Hill 
for some time. ’ ’ 

“ Bring Cecil up here !” said Merivale, a little bewil- 
dered. “ Is that necessary ? You will be awfully bored 
with him. He is not an interesting child.” 

‘ ‘ I think he will interest me ; and it will seem strange 
if we do not have him here. While you were living a 
bachelor life it was natural enough he should stay in the 
country, but now I am at the head of household affairs 
people will think it is my indifference keeps him there, 


6o 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


dear. He has only you to love him, having lost his 
mother, and 

“Very well. Perhaps you are right; so do as you 
please. Only I don’t think it would do to keep him. 
Children must be rather a nuisance. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ And an interest, too. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That remains to be seen. I must be off now. 
What shall you do with yourself, my love ? Lady Hill- 
ton is not in town yet. You will be lonely.” 

^ ‘ Oh, no. I am going to make the acquaintance of 
your housekeeper ; she rather awes me, and I must get 
over that. I shall go over the house and see my own 
special treasures arranged in my special quarters. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Then, good-morning. I must not begin work by 
being late, and I may bring back Graf. Sherrard, if I fall 
in with him, to dinner. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Graf. ? Is he a German ?’ ’ 

“His name is Grafton Sherrard, but we shorten it. 
Time is precious in town.” 

So saying, with a parting kiss, Merivale left his wife 
to the occupations she proposed. 

One of her first acts was to write to “ Mrs. Raikes, 
Larch Hill, Woodbridge.” 

A courteous, gracious letter, informing the highly re- 
spected and trusted employ^ that Mr. Merivale and 
herself being unable for the present to visit Larch Hill, 
she begged Mrs. Raikes to bring up her charge on the 
following day, or at furthest the next but one, which 
was Thursday, and to come prepared to spend a week or 
two in town. 

-When this missive reached the “clean hands” of Mrs. 
Raikes her, let us also say, ‘ ‘ pure heart’ ’ was moved to 
wrath. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


6i 


“Here’s a pretty how-d’ye-do,” she muttered to 
herself, for her young charge was having his tea under 
Susan’s superintendence in the day-nursery. “What 
makes Madam worry over the child ? — not to please the 
Master ; he does not want to be bothered with him. I’ll 
go bail, the best news you could take Mr. Merivale was 
that the little brat had gone to kingdom come. He’s a 
poor, puny creature, and will never be no good to any 
one, — just like his sneaking, mean-spirited mother, who 
never had the pluck to give me what would make it 
worth my while to keep my tongue quiet. Now, I’d 
like to know what I’m to do about his clothes ? There’s 
one good suit, but I’ve not been able to get him new 
under-things for some time. If I can get over the first 
couple of days, I can slip out and buy some. I suppose 
the new Mrs. Merivale won’t take the liberty of looking 
through his things, which would be a most unlady-like 
action. There’s no knowing. Mr. Saunders, the stew- 
ard, did hear she was as poor, as poor ! and poor gentry 
is a bad lot. Married without settlements, in a hurry, I 
daresay. I’d think she was trying to get round Mr. 
Merivale, only I know he’d rather never see the boy’s 
face again. Hark ! what a row that limb of a girl’s 
making, ’ ’ rising and opening the nursery door. 

“Now, then, hold your noise, will ye ! What’s that 
little fool screaming about ?’ ’ 

“ Oh, Nurse, Susie has been telling me such a funny 
story about some cocks and hens and a big gander,” 
began Cecil, forgetting himself in the amusement of the 
moment. 

“You’re a gander yourself,” said Nurse, harshly. 
“Clear away as fast as you can, Susan, and then run 
down to the laundry and tell Mary Law I must have 


62 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


every stitch of Master Cecil’s things washed and ironed by 
to-morrow night, and my own, too. We are going away 
to London. Yes, Master Cecil, you had better behave 
yourself ; you are going to see your Pa — and 

“ Oh, Nurse, I don’t want to go ! He looks so grand 
— and so cross — and — oh, he frightens me ! Last time 
he beat me because I told a lie ; and it wasn’t a lie, — 
you know it was not ! You go, Nurse, and leave me 
with Susie.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, nonsense and stuff ! Your new Mamma has sent 
for us and we must go. She’ 11 be pretty well shocked at 
your bad manners ; she is a great, grand lady, and she 
won’t have a boy near her she’s ashamed of.” 

The child sat mute and motionless, thinking with vague 
dread of the new terror which had come into his life. 

Is there anything on earth so pitiable as an unloved, 
misunderstood child, crushed down by harshness into 
depths of cunning and deceit, condemned to the desola- 
tion of feeling unfriended, without a protector in the 
world to whom he can fly for refuge ? No wonder a fine- 
natured, delicately constituted child — mentally delicate — 
like Cecil Merivale grew more and more nervously timid. 
And the most pathetic ingredient in the sad picture is the 
child’s unconsciousness of his own wrongs ! 

A tolerable degree of civility from Nurse, a little un- 
checked play with Susie, an unrebuked romp with his pet 
kitten, and he forgot the sorrowful side of his life, and 
was ready to love every one. 

‘ ‘ And will sh^ punish me ; eh, nurse ?’ ’ 

“Lord knows what she will do ! Upset us all, for 
sure, if she meddles at all ; and she seems bent on med- 
dling. Anyway, she can do what she likes with your 
Pa, at present. ’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


63 


Poor little Cecil thought more continuously than he 
had ever done before of this new and alarming addition to 
the family. He only expected another tyrant, and went 
to sleep while trying to picture what she would be like. 

For the succeeding day and a half Mrs. Raikes’s 
temper made existence a burden to the boy and Susie. 
Even to Mrs. Cutler, the important cook and caretaker, 
with whom she had entered into an alliance for their 
mutual benefit, she was snappish and contrary. She 
was profoundly uneasy at this sudden summons ; it boded 
an intolerable amount of interference and poke-nosing. 
She worked hard to put Cecil’s wardrobe in order, and- 
reflected the while that it was well Mrs. Merivale had 
sent for the child instead of coming down to Larch Hill 
herself. Finally she determined to stick to her present 
position as long as possible, and, as Susie was a little too 
well informed as to the routine of life in Cecil’s nursery, 
it was time that girl should have the chance of a rise, and 
she accordingly told her that it was very likely Master 
Cecil would be sent to school, so she had better look out 
for another place before she was sent away, and while 
Mrs. Raikes was there to recommend her, which she 
would do, though by no means sure that Susie deserved 
it ; but then Mrs. Raikes knew that her own weakness 
was good-nature and too great an inclination to help 
every one. 

“Pm sure / don’t want to stay in this barn of a place 
when that blessed boy is out of it ! Fd have gone long 
ago, only I wouldn’t desert him. / know Pm the only 
bit of comfort he had in the world. I do hope the new 
missus ’ll take to him,” said Susie to her confidante, a 
rough-and-ready maid-of-all-work, who waited on cook 
and helped to keep the house clean. 


64 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ Maybe she will. He is a dear little fellow, — only he 
looks silly at times.” 

‘ ‘ And no wonder ! That old cat Nurse will fit him for 
an idiot asylum before she has done with him. Fm sure 
that day she made away with the kitten, I thought he’d 
go out of his mind ! I wonder why she wants to send 
me off ? See, she has given me half a crown besides my 
full wages ! I will go up to Rosemont, and offer for the 
under-housemaid’s place. Dolly Collins is leaving to 
marry, and more fool she ” 

‘ ‘ Don’ t be in such a hurry ! Stay and help clean up 
them rooms. You’ll get your food anyway, and I will 
say you’re a good worker, Susie.” 

Meantime, Mrs. Raikes wore a look of stern resolution, 
and strictly limited herself to two glasses of gin-and-water 
per diem. 

******:{? 

It was a black, east-windy day, with occasional showers 
of hail, when Cecil was brought to his father’s town 
mansion. 

Deen had sent the carriage to meet him, and ordered 
tea with something more substantial than bread and 
butter to be ready in her own pretty, comfortable sit- 
ting room. 

She awaited his coming with some anxiety. Would 
he prove one of those half-witted, cross-grained creatures 
which are so difficult to deal with, and repay the efforts 
made to improve and make them happy by utter in- 
gratitude. This was the kind of child that exasperates 
a man. Was it wise to force her husband into constant 
contact with him? Would she herself know how to 
manage such a case ? She knew little or nothing about 
children, nor had she any instinctive passion for them. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


65 


If Cecil was one of these unfortunate beings, he ought to 
be put under the care of some person accustomed to the 
training of backward children, where he would have the 
company of other little people. 

Her musings were interrupted by the solemn announce- 
ment of, — 

“Master Merivale, ma’am,” and enter Mrs. Raikes, 
the picture of a respectable, almost lady-like upper ser- 
vant in her black-and-grey outdoor costume, leading by 
the hand a little boy in a sailor suit, cap in hand, a thin, 
wafery-looking boy, tall for seven years old, but white 
and wan, with big, dark-grey eyes, restless and shifty, 
alarmed like a wild thing afraid of the hunters. His 
features were good, refined, and harmonious, but not 
childlike : rather preternaturally careworn. And Deen 
did not feel attracted to him as she expected to be. Just 
inside the door Mrs. Raikes paused, and said, ‘ ‘ Go, my 
dear. Go and kiss your new Mamma. ’ ’ 

The child hesitated, looking from one to the other. 
Deen rose and went to meet him, taking a little hand in 
both hers, and then drawing him into her arms. 

“I am very glad to see you, dear child,” she said, 
rather unsteadily, feeling strangely affected by the pres- 
ence of her husband’s son, and perceiving that the little 
fellow was trembling. ‘ ‘ Are you cold, dear ?’ ’ she asked. 

“ Oh, no ! It is nice and warm here. Are you,” — 
looking wistfully into her face, — “are you my new 
Mamma?” 

“ I will try to be your mother,” returned Deen, with 
unconscious earnestness. 

Cecil drew back and gazed at her as if sorely puzzled. 

“ I fear you had a cold, uncomfortable journey,” said 
Mrs. Merivale, courteously, to Nurse. 

5 


66 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ It was not exactly pleasant, Madam, and it is colder 
in the country.” 

‘ ‘ This little man does not look like a country boy, 
with his pale cheeks and thin hands,” drawing off his 
gloves. 

‘ ‘ No, Madam. Master Cecil is not stronger because 
he will not do as he is bid and eat his food. 

“ Oh, that will never do, Cecil ! You shall dine with 
me every day, if you will eat ; but if you will not, I shall 
run away.” 

The pale face suddenly lit up, and the dull eyes smiled 
and brightened ; he understood that his new Mamma 
was jesting. 

“ I like some things,” he said, in a whisper. 

‘ ‘ Then you must tell me what they are, and we will 
coax cook to let us have them” 

‘ ‘ I am afraid. Madam, you will find it won’ t answer 
to indulge Master Cecil too much,” said Mrs. Raikes, 
icily. 

Deen took no notice of this aside. She rang, saying, 
“You must want your tea, Mrs. Raikes, after such a 
cold journey.” Then, to the footman, who answered 
the bell, — 

“You are going to tea, are you not? Well, take 
Mrs. Raikes to the housekeeper’s room. She will want 
something solid after her travels. Master Merivale will 
have tea with me. ’ ’ 

She bent her head, and Mrs. Raikes felt herself dis- 
missed and helpless. 

Cecil was half-dismayed, half-delighted at the idea of 
having tea with this grand lady, who seemed a queen to 
him. Partaking of the various goodies provided for his 
refreshment, however, made him feel more at home. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


67 


When Deen thought the pangs of hunger were ap- 
peased, she tried to draw her step-son into conversation. 
This was not a successful attempt. The child seemed 
stupefied. He gazed round him, and sometimes did not 
seem to hear when spoken to. At last, having roamed 
round the room looking at the various ornaments, he 
drew near and said, “ Is my Papa here?” 

“Not just now, but he will be here soon.” 

“Very soon?” in a tone of apprehension. 

“ He will be here for dinner at half-past seven. You 
are not afraid of him, are you, dear ?’ ’ 

“ Yes ! He is always angry with me.” 

“ Well, you must try to be very good, and please him. 
I will help you. Then, you are older and wiser now.” 

The child sat down on a low chair near the fire, and 
gazed at it reflectively. 

“What are you thinking of, my love?” asked Deen, 
after a short silence, while she watched the pale, sad, 
little face. 

‘ ‘ I don’ t know ; only it puzzles me why I always seem 
naughty. I don’t want to be naughty, and Susie says I 
am often quite good. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Who is ‘ Susie ?’ ’ ’ said Deen, kneeling down beside 
him, and taking his little, hot, restless hands in both her 
own. 

“ Oh, Susie is the girl that waited on Nurse and me ; 
she used to play with me. We had such games ! I was 
always good with Susie. If Nurse sends her away, I 
shall have no one.” 

“ Why do you think Nurse will send her away ?’^ 

‘ ‘ Susie told me. She was sorry. She cried and 
kissed me when she put me to bed last night.” 

“Well, dear, I shall enquire about Susie, and see what 


68 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


is to be done. I want to make you happy, and, if you 
will try to speak the truth, I think I can.” 

Here their conversation was interrupted by the ap- 
pearance of Mrs. Raikes. 

“Have you had your tea already?” asked Deen, 
rising to her feet. 

“ Yes, Madam. I did not delay, for I know children are 
very tiresome to those who are not accustomed to them. ’ ’ 

“Master Cecil has not been the least troublesome, I 
assure you ! Now come and see your rooms. I think 
they are pleasant and comfortable. And I have brought 
you a present from Paris, Cecil. Come and see it. ’ ’ 

“A present!” cried the boy, his eyes lighting up. 
“ Oh, thank you ! that is nice. Susie gave me the last 
present I had. When she went to the Fair she brought 
me a jumping man. Oh, he was so funny. ’ ’ 

“Well, you shall see what I have for you.” 

The rooms prepared for the little son of the house 
were large, airy, cheerful, and overlooked the park. 
The windows were now closed and the curtains drawn, 
but everything was fresh and bright, the gay chintz 
hangings and abundant colored prints on the walls 
making them most attractive. 

Here Mrs. Merivale opened a large box and took out 
a steam-engine and two trains, one for luggage, the 
other for passengers. It was a mechanical toy which 
when wound up rushed across the room making a noise 
like the ‘ ‘ puff -puff’ ’ of an engine. 

To Deen’s mortification the nervous child, unaccus- 
tomed to new-fashioned toys, was more frightened than 
delighted and shrank from it in some dismay. 

The task of displaying the costly plaything and accus- 
toming the boy to it occupied Deen till it was time to 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


69 

dress for dinner, when she hastened away, anxious to 
be ready to receive her husband, who had promised to 
return early in order to see his son before dinner. 

“You will make Master Cecil look as nice as you can, 
and come down with him ; he is accustomed to you,” 
were her last words to Mrs. Raikes. 

Deen had only just reached the drawing-room when 
Merivale came in. There was a slightly displeased look 
about his mouth and contraction of his brow, such as 
he had rarely shown since his marriage. 

‘ ‘ Horrid day !’ ’ were his first words, as he stirred the 
already blazing fire. “ Looked in at the club as I came 
along, and asked Graf. Sherrard to dinner, so if that 
child has come up let me see him at once. ’ ’ 

“Yes, he is here. I will send for him. He is a very 
pretty boy, Horace, and a nice little fellow, quite like 
you, only very, very fair. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Like me ?’ ’ cried Merivale, in a bitter tone. ‘ ‘ What 
a strange fancy !’ ’ 

“ Indeed, it is not ! When did you see him last?” 

“ I don’t know ; some months ago. He cannot have 
changed so much in the time.” 

Here the door opened, and Cecil, prettily dressed in 
black velvet and looking quite distinguished, came a few 
steps into the room and then stopped. He was followed 
by Mrs. Raikes, for whom he left scarcely room enough 
between him and the door. 

‘ ‘ Come, dear, ’ ’ said Deen, going over to him. ‘ ‘ Come 
and kiss father.” The boy, holding her hand tightly 
went up to Merivale, who stood watching him, the cloud 
still on his brow. Cecil held up his face. Hesitatingly his 
father stooped and touched his forehead with his lips. 

‘ ‘ How old are you ?’ ’ he asked, coldly. 


70 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


** I was seven last August.” 

‘ ‘ How do you know ?’ ’ 

“ It was Fair time, and Susie brought me a fairing.” 

“ Oh ! How do you do, Mrs. Raikes ? Keeping pretty 
well, I hope,” with condescension. “ I hope this young 
gentleman is improving. I believe he has given you a 
good deal of trouble.” 

‘ ‘ Oh ! yes, sir, ’ ’ amiably. ‘ ‘ Master Cecil has been a 
better boy lately. ’ ’ 

“It is very good of Nurse to speak so well of you, 
Cecil, after your bad conduct to her. Pray why did you 
bite her hand ? I see she still wears plaster on it. ’ ’ 

“I did not bite her,” stammered Cecil, flushing 
crimson. 

‘ ‘ What ! a lie already, ’ ’ cried Merivale, advancing 
towards him. ‘ ‘ I will show you how I treat liars. ’ ’ 

The child grew white. He glanced a look of terror 
at his father — a look of despair at Nurse, standing 
petrified, helpless. A great sob swelled Deen’ s throat ; 
she understood it all. The child felt absolutely friend- 
less, defenceless. She started up, exclaiming, ‘ ‘ Come to 
me, Cecil ; come to me P ’ 

The child turned his hopeless eyes to her, and though 
he could not have expressed what he felt, it seemed to 
him, as his new friend stood tall and graceful in her 
white dinner gown, — her fair round arms outstretched, 
her sweet eyes aglow with compassionate tenderness, — 
that God had sent his angel of pity to protect him. With 
a cry he flew to her, and she folded him to her heart, 
close and closerr as she felt his fragile frame quivering 
while he clung convulsively to her ; but she kept down 
her emotion. A scene would never do — it would es- 
trange Merivale more than ever from his son. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


71 


She forced herself to smile. “Come, come,” she 
said. ‘ ‘ I forbid all punishments and looking black to- 
day, when my boy has found a new mother, and will be- 
gin a new life. / will be responsible for him in future, 
and I will allow no tears and frowns on such a day.” 

His wife’s attitude, her tact, so pleased Merivale — it 
reflected so much credit on his superior taste and 
judgment — that he was temporarily molified, and deigned 
to kiss his poor little boy before he went to bed. 

“ Won’t you put me to bed?” he whispered, clinging 
to his step-mother’s hand. 

“ I will go upstairs, dear, but I cannot stay.” 

Leaving him in Mrs. Raikes’s charge, with a few 
words which suggested caution to that highly respect- 
able individual, as Cecil had evidently found a pro- 
tector, Deen returned to the drawing-room in time to 
receive Sherrard. 

She had never played the part of hostess more agree- 
ably, more charmingly, than on the present occasion. 
Merivale enjoyed himself and forgot his son. 

Afterwards, in the privacy of their chamber, Merivale 
returned to the subject. 

“ I hope, my dear Deen,” he said, “ I hope you are 
not to pose as a sentimental, exceptional step-mother. I 
will not have that boy spoiled or brought under notice. 
Don’t trouble me with him.” 

“My dear Horace,” she returned, leaning over the 
back of his chair, and stroking his well-groomed, glossy 
dark hair, ‘ ‘ I will answer you out of the catechism. 

‘ I intend to do my duty in that state of life to which it 
has pleased God to call me. ’ ” 


CHAPTER V 


When Sherrard left his hosts he told the driver of 
his hansom to drive to “Queen’s Mansions,” Sloane 
Street. His own abode lay much further east. He re- 
sided in pleasant bachelor quarters in the Temple, look- 
ing out on the gardens, with a view of the river beyond. 
His rooms were celebrated for the picturesque originality 
of their furniture and decorations. Indeed, fashionable 
ladies of every degree were always flattered by an invi- 
tation to tea in Graf. Sherrard’ s rooms. 

In the comparatively humble little flat where he meant 
to finish the evening, he was not exactly expected, nor 
was his coming a surprise. 

“ Queen’s Mansions” occupied what had been a stable 
lane a couple of years before, but the transforming 
touch of an enterprising builder had converted the 
tumble-down edifices into ‘ ‘ Bijou abodes, ’ ’ and the third 
story of Number Twenty-five was occupied by an interest- 
ing young widow not unknown to fame, — i.e.^ Society. 

Mrs. Darrell was the relict of an elderly naval officer 
who fell a victim to a tropical climate and unsuitable 
habits, leaving his wife but slenderly provided for. 
She was a lonely little woman, having lost her two 
babies, and not unnaturally made for London as a place 
where chances were to be found, among them the hope 
of accomplishing a reconciliation with her brother-in-law, 
a testy, tyrannical invalid, who could not forgive his 
brother’s unequal marriage. 

72 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


73 


It was past ten and Mrs. Darrell laid down a book she 
had been reading, gazed for a moment at the fire which 
was burning rather low, and struck a bell which stood on 
the table beside her. 

The room was small, but daintily furnished and care- 
fully arranged, producing a good effect at small cost. 

Mrs. Darrell was a small, graceful looking woman, a 
brunette of the brownest, with a small mouth exceedingly 
red-lipped, big lustrous dark eyes, long black lashes, 
and a quantity of soft, dusky, nearly black hair. ’ 

She wore a saffron coloured tea-gown adorned with 
fine black lace, which suited her room and herself 
equally well. 

A tall, bony, grey-haired woman with a broad Teutonic 
cast of countenance came at her call. 

‘ ‘ Lotta !’ ’ she exclaimed. ‘ ‘ The fire is going out. 
It is past ten, but I do not like to go to bed yet. You 
had better put on a log of wood, and bring another in 
case I should want it ; and, Lotta, bring me in some 
good black coffee and a biscuit. ’ ’ 

“Yes, yes! Madam must be famished. No meat I 
Nothing since luncheon !“ She spoke with a rather un- 
pleasant foreign accent. 

“ I did not want food.” 

“Ah, Bale ! one always wants food.” She left the 
room and returned almost immediately with the wood, 
sweeping up the hearth, and giving a tidy look to the 
grate with a touch or two. 

Mrs. Darrell left her book on her knee and sat musing, 
when a sudden vigorous pull at the bell startled her. 
She stood up, the rich colour mounting in her cheeks 
and giving brilliancy to her eyes. 

The next moment Lotta opened the door and said. 


74 THE STEP-MOTHER 

“ Here is Mr. Sherrard,” as if he were a frequent vis- 
itor. 

‘ ‘ Can you excuse a visit at such an ungodly hour ? 
I have been dining with Merivale, and finding myself so 
near, I could not resist the temptation to look you up. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Do not exhaust yourself in excuses. I was just 
going to have a cup of coffee after a rather miserable 
day. It has been wretchedly, damply cold, and I hate 
cold. You will share my potations?” 

“Yes, certainly ! I can’t say you look cold or miser- 
able, — rather celestially rosy : love’s proper hue,” gazing 
at her with bold admiration. 

She tossed her chin slightly upwards, as if disdaining 
his compliment. 

‘ ‘ I have had a rather uncivil rebuff from my brother- 
in-law to-day.” 

“ Indeed ? He is rather a brute !” 

“I thought I had done a clever thing. You know, 
or rather you do not know, that among the few valuables 
poor Tom left behind him is a huge watch, a chronom- 
eter with minute hands, etc. It had been given him by 
his father. So I sent such a pretty little note to Mr. 
Darrell, — though I say it that shouldn’t, — saying I felt 
myself so much a stranger to the family that I was 
more disposed to give back to my husband’s brother 
what had been the gift of their father than to keep it 
for myself ; but I hoped he would let me present it 
personally, for, in spite of his unfriendliness, I should 
like to make his acquaintance, as I had so often heard 
poor Tom speak of him. He replied that family affec- 
tion was not a characteristic of the Darrells, and if my 
late husband’s description of his eldest brother corre- 
sponded with his former view of the writer’s disposition. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


75 


Mrs. T. Darrell must have peculiar taste. As to the 
watch, it had no particular value for him, and Mrs. T. 
Darrell might dispose of it with greater advantage to a 
relative of different class.” 

‘ ‘ What an awful old brute, ’ ’ laughed Sherrard, 
“but my dear little woman, your clever move was a 
decided mistake. There is no use trying to stroke such 
a stinging nettle as your brother-in-law. Your only 
chance, and that isn’ t much, is to sting in return. ’ ’ 

Here coffee was brought in, and a pause occurred. 

“Capital coffee,” said Sherrard, sipping it. “It 
wasn’t half so good at Merivale’s to-day. That was the 
only weak spot in the entertainment. Really, his dinners 
are nearly perfect.” 

‘ ‘ And what do you think of the bride ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh ! the bridal days are done ; they are nearly two 
months man and wife. Well, I think Mrs. Merivale 
does credit to her husband’s taste ; he is a lucky 
beggar, that fellow. She isn’t a beauty, you know, but 
she might be a princess of the blood, if princesses ever 
came up to that mark, and more a lovely woman 
than regularly handsome. He is delighted with every- 
thing at present, but — there’s always a ‘but’ or an ‘if,’ 
you know ” He stopped. 

“Take another wafer,” said the hostess. “What is 
the ‘ but’ in this case ?’ ’ 

“I don’t think Merivale will ever reduce her to an 
echo ; she is too intelligent, too mature. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Isn’ t she young, then ?’ ’ 

“She has passed the bread-and-butter age, and 
reached what I think the most perfect one, — about 
twenty-eight to thirty. ’ ’ 

“ Then she will know how to manage him.” 


76 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ Um ! Perhaps. I fancy she goes in for honesty, 
which is another ‘ if. ’ Principles are rather a nuisance 
in a woman. You would have turned Merivale round 
your finger. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ But he did not give me a chance ; though at one 
time, I fancy, success was on the cards.” 

“Yes, so did I. He was a fool to lose you. For 
my part, I infinitely prefer a tactful, worldly little devil 
of a woman to one of your stately, high-toned pieces of 
perfection, who would never go to the devil for you, or 
with you ; eh, Laura ?’ ’ 

“ Oh, I quite understand your views on the subject,” 
she returned, glancing up at him a swift flashing glance 
which expressed a certain degree of admiration. 

Grafton Sherrard was tall, but not very tall, distin- 
guished looking as to figure, and plain in face. His fore- 
head was wide, his brows overhung light steely blue 
grey eyes, his hair and eyebrows were thick and of a 
reddish sandy hue, his features strong and large, his 
cheek-bones high. His mouth was wide and thick-lipped, 
yet it could smile pleasantly and frankly ; and from these 
unrefined lips came a peculiarly soft, agreeable voice. 
Sherrard was not exactly a favourite in society, but 
though neither rich, nor learned, nor political, nor any- 
thing in particular, he had a certain amount of influence, 
for he was a shrewd observer, a sparing speaker, and was 
supposed not to care a ‘ ‘ damn’ ’ for any one. 

“You are a deucedly worldly little woman,” he went 
on, caressingly. “Don’t see how you could be any- 
thing else, but there’s a weak spot in your armour. 
Probably you are not aware of it yourself. ’ ’ 

“ What is it, Graf. ?” 

“That curious cook, dame Nature, in mixing the 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


77 


materials of which you are composed, gave you a grain 
or two too much heart, which prevents your hardening 
into the proper consistency for the work you have to do ; 
at least, you choose to do. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Choose ? What choice have I ? I cannot dig, and 
to beg, I am not exactly ashamed, — but it is no good.” 

” You might go out as a nurse or a companion to an 
elderly gentleman or lady, or governess ; say to Meri- 
vale’s boy.” 

“ I should prefer an early grave, or a watery one in 
the serpentine. ’ ’ 

Sherrard laughed harshly. “No; you would prefer 
doing mother to the infant. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I certainly should. Is it not maddening to think 
I lost both my pretty boys. They were sweet things, 
Graf. ; though I daresay they would have grown up 
‘ limbs’ ; they were both so like their father. But fancy 
how different my position would be were I mother to the 
heir of Darrell’s Court?” 

“Yes, it was undutiful on the part of both your sons 
to depart this life. But I think you are making your 
way in this big Vanity Fair. Whatever you do, don’t 
neglect the women. You cannot get on respectably 
without them. ’ ’ 

“They bore me very much, and they don’t like 
me.” 

“Bad taste, — shocking bad taste. I’ll tell you who 
might be useful to you : Mrs. Merivale. There is a 
good deal of weakness about her. You can soon find out 
which way it tends, and she is going to be a very pop- 
ular woman. ’ ’ 

“I don’t see how I am to make friends with her,” 
said Mrs. Darrell, in a complaining tone. 


78 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


‘ ‘ Go and leave your card, then come and meet her 
at tea in my rooms. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That will do. Thank you, Graf. , ’ ’ and she stretched 
out her hand — a pretty little brown hand ; he held it 
caressingly — “and,” continued his hostess, withdrawing 
it very slowly, ‘ ‘ as you think defiance is better than 
submission to Mr. Darrell, I think I shall get up a 
raffle for the watch. I shall start a list of subscribers 
headed by a brief account of the necessity of parting 
with that relic, and when I have got a number of good 
names, especially in his own club, I will send it to him, 
with a request for his contribution.” 

Sherrard laughed loudly. “ I know young Pier- 
pont, who is his heir, and Fll get him to add his name. 
By the way, it’s as well you should meet him. He is 
an impressionable fellow, and you might manage him. 
Eh?” 

“They say you are hard, Graf. ; but you are very 
good to me.” 

“You are a dangerous little witch. Come, let us 
settle about my tea fight ; another cup, — it’s uncommon 
good coffee, Laura, and you are looking uncommonly, 
devilishly pretty. I like brunettes better than your 
blonde angels, though I have known golden-haired girls 
who could give points to Old Nick. Mrs. Merivale is 
wonderfully fair, but she is not colorless in any sense : 
her eyes forbid insipidity.” 

“I think, Graf.,” said his interlocutor, slowly, and 
looking full at him, “ I think you admire your friend’s 
wife very much. ’ ’ 

“Yes, Ido. But there’s something about her that 
rouses my antagonism. I hate independent women. 
Yet I despise slavish ones, and Mrs. Merivale, though 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


79 


perfectly gentle and well-bred, is Oh, I don’t 

know what. Her soft eyes have a steadiness that defy 
mine. I know that later on I shall enjoy mortifying 
her. ’ ’ 

“ I thought men were always ready to kneel down and 
worship highly virtuous women ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Such is the generally accepted idea, but having sat- 
isfied their higher instincts by a few minutes’ worship of 
virtue, they like to enjoy themselves for a few hours 
with vice.” 

“You are right, — and you ought to know. I fancy 
you are a regular rip, Graf. ’ ’ 

“My neighbours and I are much of a muchness, 
Laura. Now, let me see. What are your engagements ? 
We must secure Mrs. Merivale before the general rush 
upon her.” 

‘ ‘ I have not so many ; at least, for the afternoons. ’ ’ 

“ Then I will try to secure Mrs. Merivale for to-morrow 
week, and you had better keep your afternoons open till 
you hear from or see me. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Shall you be in town on Saturday ?’ ’ 

“No. I am obliged to run to Danesbury to see my 
ward and attend to my duties as guardian.” 

‘ ‘ How old is your nephew, Graf. ?’ ’ 

“ He will come of age, if he lives, in about six years.” 
“ If he does not, you succeed him ?’ ’ 

“Ido.” 

‘ ‘ Poor fellow ! I have my doubts he will live. ’ ’ 
Sherrard laughed loudly. ‘ ‘ Why, do you think me 
such a fool as to tamper with life, especially as the poor 
chap does not annoy or cross me in any way ? In fact, 
he is rather fond of me. Moreover, dead or alive, he will 
be of use to me. I must say good-night, Laura, but I 


8o 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


should much rather stay. This is a cozy little nest of 
yours. Look here, can you afford to spare a hundred 
pounds for a month ?’ * 

“Yes, if there is no risk.” 

“No, there’s none. Give me a cheque, and you’ll 
have it back doubled in a month or I’ll make it good. 
So you may believe / am pretty sure of the result, for I 
am not given to generosity. Make the cheque to Myell 
& Quin. They are my brokers. I’ll give them instruc- 
tions. Here — here’s their card,” taking it from his note- 
book. “Write to them direct by an early post. So 
good-night. Mind you call on Mrs. Merivale. I rather 
want you to be thick with her ; she may be useful to you 
into the bargain. Good- night.” 

He kissed his hand to her and left the room. 


CHAPTER VI 


It was with a bewildering sense of happiness that poor 
little Cecil Merivale recalled the amazing scene of the 
night before, as he awoke to the light of a grey morning. 
It was like a fairy tale, such as those Susie had told him 
on some of the happy occasions when they had been left 
alone together. He longed to see Susie, and tell her 
about the kind, beautiful lady who had come to be his 
Mamma. 

“Are we to stay here always?” he asked Nurse, 
bursting into undaunted speech during the solemn proc- 
ess of dressing, usually performed in unbroken silence. 

“That’s as your Papa chooses,” returned Nurse, and 
Cecil could not help thinking she spoke more politely than 
usual. “Anyway, don’t you fancy you’re to be spoilt 
and made a pet of because your new Ma cuddled you up 
last night. Stay till she sees the sort of boy you are, — 
spiteful and deceitful, and Lord knows what besides.” 

Cecil was prudently silent, but he thought he could tell 
everything to that delighful new Mamma if she would 
only hold him in her arms and press her soft warm cheek 
against his. 

Cecil contrived to get through breakfast without fur- 
ther revilings, and meditated profoundly as to whether 
his new Mamma would reject him when she discovered 
the depths of his wickedness, for the poor little fellow 
was quite aware he was a very naughty boy indeed. 

Nevertheless, the day-nursery was so pleasant, the 

6 8i 


82 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


breakfast so nicely served, and Mrs. Raikes so unusually 
inoffensive, that he ate quite a hearty meal. 

“ I’m sure I wish I knew what we were to do, — whether 
I am to take you out or not,” said Mrs. Raikes, queru- 
lously. “We’ll see nothing of Mrs. Merivale till the 
Master is gone to town. Is the Master gone out yet ?’ ’ 
she asked of a neat and very young girl, who came into 
the room as she spoke. 

‘ ‘ I don’ t know ’ m ! Are you ready for me to take 
away the breakfast things, ’ m ?” 

“Yes, we have quite finished,” said Mrs. Raikes, 
condescendingly, ‘ ‘ and I should be obliged if you would 
mention that, by some mistake, they have sent me up 
inferior butter. I have been accustomed to the Larch 
Hill butter ; in fact, I cannot eat any other. Perhaps 
the cook will attend to this.” 

“Very well’m, I’ll tell her.” 

The breakfast things removed, a pause ensued, during 
which neither nurse nor nursling knew what was to be 
done, though the latter found ample amusement in gaz- 
ing from his window on the life and movement on the 
road below and the park beyond. 

Mrs. Raikes calculated her chances of getting out for 
an hour or two to replenish the little boy’s wardrobe ; 
and, while she mused, the door opened to admit Mrs. 
Merivale in a morning dress of electric blue cashmere 
and velvet, edged with sable. Mrs. Raikes rose respect- 
fully, and Cecil jumped down from the window and flew 
into her arms, exclaiming, — 

I have been quite good, haven’t I, Nurse.” 

“Well, I can’t say as you’ve been naughty,” was 
Nurse’s reluctant testimony. “ If ever a boy ought to 
be good, you are that boy. ’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


83 


' ‘ Ah, well, I am sure he will be. Come, Cecil, let us 
try to manage that train. Then I must write some 
letters. So you can take him out in the park for a little 
run. Then he shall dine with me at luncheon, and later 
come out for a drive. ’ ’ 

All the time she spoke, Cecil clung round her, looking 
up in her face with a rapt expression. 

Mrs. Raikes did not lose the opportunity. “Then, 
Madam, may I ask permission to go and see a niece of 
mine who lives up Camdentown way, who has been in 
rather delicate health ?’ ’ 

“ Oh, yes ! You can go directly after luncheon and 
stay till half-past five.” 

“I am greatly obliged. Madam. I shall be home 
before that time ; but ,” she ran on, with a descrip- 

tion of the many complicated disorders which afflicted 
her niece. 

Mrs. Merivale spent nearly an hour familiarizing her 
step-son and herself with the engine and train she had 
given him. Then he went out with his formidable nurse, 
returning in time to dine with his new mamma, who 
found much fault with his habits and manners at table. 
Still, she neither wounded nor worried the poor little 
fellow, but showed him softly and gently how to behave, 
telling him what a nice little boy he would be if he tried 
to do as she told him. Then came the greatest treat of 
all, — a drive over Hampstead Heath, where they 
alighted, and Cecil enjoyed scampering along the ridge, 
from which the great city can be vaguely seen through 
a vast sea of smoky mist. Then he was quite happy to 
sit silently holding her hand, and now and then looking 
up to smile in her face. 

“You shall have tea with me when we go in, Cecil, 


84 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


because I am alone ; and when you are dressed, and 
come in to see Papa, you must not be afraid. You must 
answer whatever he asks you, truly. If you speak the 
truth, he will not be angry with you ; but no one can 
love a liar. ’ ’ 

“He always thinks I tell lies ; and I do not always, 
only when I am frightened. Oh ! lam afraid of Papa 
— and — and Nurse.” 

“Well, you have me now to be your friend. I will 
always love you and take care of you, if you speak the 
truth. Try to remember that telling lies will always 
bring more punishment on you than any other fault. ’ ’ 

Tea was very delightful. Cecil had plenty of bread 
and butter, and plain cake. Deen noticed with satis- 
faction that he was not the least greedy or rough, and 
began to hope she should make something of him, and 
draw father and son together. 

Merivale was rather later than usual that evening, and 
went at once to his dressing-room. When he joined his 
wife, he found her showing a book of pictures to Cecil ; 
a frown contracted his brow, though wife and child 
might rather have called up a smile of pleasure. Deen 
felt the boy’s little hand close tightly on hers and a look 
of uneasy dread steal over his sensitive face. A throb of 
indignation stirred her heart at this display of unnatural 
dislike. How could her husband be unjust to an inno- 
cent child, his own little boy. She must not irritate 
him, however. It would be unwise to stir up more 
dislike. 

“Go and say good-night to Father, dear ! It is too 
late to stay any longer,” she said, closing the book. 
“You shall see the rest to-morrow.” Cecil held her 
hand tightly for an instant, and then with an evident 


THE STEP-MOTHER 85 

effort walked across to his father, and holding up his 
little flushed face said, ‘ ‘ Good-night, Papa. ’ ’ 

“ Good-night,” returned Merivale, without looking at 
him. The child paused an instant, ran back to his step- 
mother, kissed her fervently, and went towards the door. 
“You know your way, dear?” she asked. 

“ Oh, yes ! You will come and see me?” 

‘ ‘ I will, later ; but you must not try to keep awake. ’ ’ 
The child glanced at Merivale, and then, evidently glad 
to escape, went off quickly, slamming the door behind 
him. 

“ Uncouth little savage,” said Merivale. “ If he is to 
infest this room he must be taught manners. ’ ’ 

“ Dinner is on the table,” announced the butler, and 
Deen, glad to be saved from the necessity of a reply, 
took her husband’s arm and started a more congenial 
subject, by saying, — 

‘ ‘ I found such a quantity of cards when I came in to- 
day that I must get you to look at them, dear, and tell 
me who is who ; for you know London is terra incognita 
to me.” 

Merivale’ s brow cleared. “Yes, you will need guid- 
ance, and I shall be happy to be of use. By the way, 
I met Sir Thomas Hillton this evening on my homeward 
road. They arrived in town yesterday. ’ ’ 

“ Indeed ! I did not think they would be up till the 
end of the week. They have taken a furnished house in 
Green Street. I shall be so glad to see them all again.” 

And their talk flowed easily on a variety of topics, for 
Merivale seemed himself again. Returned to the draw- 
ing-room he sent for the cards which had been left that 
afternoon and began to comment upon the owners. 
None seemed to have much importance in his eyes, still 


86 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


he wished all to be treated with consideration, for he 
added, “No one is so absolutely insignificant that he or 
she may not be a dangerous enemy.” He pushed the 
cards from him, except two or three which he kept before 
him. 

“ Lady Janet Dobson,” he read. “ She is an elderly 
and somewhat ferocious widow, exceedingly disagreeable, 
but immensely in the social swim. She requires peculiar 
treatment, — on no account be too civil to her, but do not 
make an enemy of her. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ What a task you set me !’ ’ exclaimed Mrs. Merivale, 
smiling sunnily. ‘ ‘ How am I to accomplish it ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I don’ t doubt you will do it well. Then there is 
Lord and Lady Henry Vernon ! She is — well, I don’t 
want you to be intimate with either, though they are 
fairly well received. Now, here is a little woman I’d be 
glad you showed some friendliness to : Mrs. Thomas Dar- 
rell ; she is a young widow, and rather badly treated by 
her husband’s brother, a crotchetty old fellow. She was 
rather an ally of mine and used to play my accom- 
paniments pretty well, I thought, until I sang to yours. 
No one can touch you there, ma belle^ nor in some 
other things, either,” and he turned his head to kiss 
her hand which lay on his shoulder. 

“ How nice he can be,” thought Deen. “ Why is he 
so adamantine to that poor little boy ?’ ’ But she only 
said, ‘ ‘ Of course, a friend of yours will be welcome 
to me, Horace.” 

“ It would not be a recommendation to most women.” 

“ I am not naturally jealous. I think too well of my- 
self and of you.” 

Merivale smiled. ‘ ‘ I fear I am not so free from the 
green-eyed monster. Don’t rouse it.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 87 

“Oh, I am not in the least afraid of that. When 
you know me better ’ ’ 

“You have broken his slumbers already. Look here, 
Deen, if you worry about that boy, I shall hate him 
worse than I do. I could strike the little beggar when I 
see you kiss him ; only, you see, the blow might be 
fatal.” 

His words and tone sent an icy shock through Deen’s 
veins, and brought tears to her soft brown eyes. She 
shrank away from him, involuntarily removing her hand. 

But Merivale was still a lover. He was on his feet, 
and held her in his arms, while he kissed the tears 
away. 

“ You are too tender-hearted,” he said. “ It is infi- 
nitely charming, but bad for yourself. You think me 
an unnatural monster. Perhaps some day I may give 
you a key to the riddle ; meantime, do not oppose me. 
It will be bad for both you and your prottg^^ 

“You frighten me, Horace,” drawing herself from 
him, ‘ ‘ and shock me, too. But I shall not be so stupid 
as to force your poor little son upon you ; later I hope 
you will be in a kinder, more natural mood. Yet you 
must not think that I will be disloyal to your boy. I 
shall take care to make him happy without annoying 
you, and I shall love you much more if you show me 
you have a father’s heart.” 

‘ ‘ I hope you cannot love me more than you do, my 
sweet one,” exclaimed Merivale, with an ineffable air. 
“As to a father’s heart, well, no ; I don’t think I have.” 

“Then we will say no more. Let us go back to 
social matters and unreality ; on these we can agree.” 

“ Oh, and on much more. You are too clear-sighted 
to disagree with me, and you will find it wiser not to 


88 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


oppose me. However, you have an excellent temper 
and tolerable judgment, so things cannot go far wrong. 
Ah, here is the last post, ’ ’ as the footman brought in a 
salver covered with notes, cards, and circulars. 

The next few minutes were fully taken up opening and 
reading them. 

Some invitations to dinner, one to a musical party, 
and a note from Lady Hillton, asking herself to tea the 
following day. Finally, a short missive : 

“Dear Mrs. Merivale, — Some compassionate 
young matrons are going to enliven my dreary solitude 
on Saturday next. Pray do me the honour to join us, 
and try to induce Merivale to accompany you. I hope 
Gabrielle will be here. They used to be chums. 

Yours truly, 

G. Sherrard. 

Deen handed the note to Merivale, who smiled. ‘ ‘ I 
thought this would come,” he said. “We must go. 
Sherrard’ s tea fights are all the vogue. You will be 
amused, and, I am sure, admired.” 

Deen felt a curious sense of sick disappointment. 
Her husband’s tone had in it something false and af- 
fected. It was bad enough, his bitterness towards her 
poor little step-son ; how would she feel were it displayed 
towards a child of her own, — and why should it not? 
The fairness of her outlook seemed suddenly overcast, 
her sense of security in her husband’s superiority, jus- 
tice, reliability, seemed swept away, and when she stole 
away to fulfil her promise to her poor little proteg^^ she 
could not restrain the quick, gathering tears. 

They fell on the child’s face and roused him from his 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


89 


much-resisted slumber, for he had looked eagerly for 
her. Putting his thin arms round her, he drew her sweet 
face down to him and whispered, “ Don’t cry, Mamma, 
don’t I love you very much.” 

********* 

It was very delightful to see Lady Hillton and her 
daughters once more. To receive them in her own beau- 
tiful house, too, and show them some of her husband’s 
costly presents. 

In this Deen found ample sympathy, for Lady Hillton 
was exceedingly proud of her successful prot^g^. 

‘ ‘ Better this than being an assistant in even the 
highest class school ; eh, Deen ?’ ’ she said, exultingly. 

“Certainly! one’s own home and a most amiable 
husband is a great improvement, ’ ’ returned Deen, laugh- 
ing ; but even while she said it, she thought what the 
reverse of the picture might be if she ventured to act 
in opposition to her husband — of the plague spot which 
tainted the atmosphere of their beautiful home. 

But Deen was disposed to ‘ ‘ hope all things and be- 
lieve all things good.” 

She resisted this wave of painful anticipation, telling 
herself that she exaggerated things, and that more prob- 
ably it would be her happy mission to win the father’s 
heart for his son, rather than to endure a prolonged 
struggle which would eat like a canker into the restful- 
ness of home life. 

‘ ‘ So the Marchioness of St. Ives is to present you, I 
hear,” Lady Hillton was saying when Deen again gave 
attention to her guests. 

“ Yes ; she very kindly offered to do so when we met 
her in Paris. So I am not going to the first drawing- 
room, as Lady St. Ives cannot be in town. I am rather 


90 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


glad, — the weather is generally so cold and miserable in 
March that I have very painful visions of myself with 
watery eyes and a red nose.” 

“That would never do, Deen. You are bound to 
make a successful debut. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ What are you going to wear, Deen ?’ ’ cried Cynthia, 
and they plunged into that absorbing subject. 

‘ ‘ And what sort of a child is the little boy ?’ ’ asked 
Lady Hillton. “You told me in your last note that you 
had made his acquaintance. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh ! he is a pretty, lovable little fellow, very like 
Mr. Merivale. I should like to see him looking 
stronger. ’ ^ 

‘ ‘ Ah ! his poor mother was very delicate. They say 
she was rather weak in intellect, but your husband was 
wonderfully good to her. That was the reason she was 
so much abroad, and always with her mother. This 
poor child is the only drawback to your marriage, 
Deen. I should like you to have an eldest son of 
your own. ’ ’ 

“That is really of no consequence. Mr. Merivale 
has no great hereditary estate to bequeath, and I am 
quite content to accept his eldest son as my own.” 

‘ ‘ Very nice of you. Pm sure. I should like to see him, 
but must not wait now ; we have a hundred and one things 
to get through before dinner-time. By the way, I hope 
you are free for this day week. I am asking a few 
people to dinner on Monday. You will hsive your invita- 
tion this evening or early to-morrow.” 

‘ ‘ As far as I know we are disengaged. Shall we 
meet you at Mr. Sherrard’s ‘tea’ on Saturday?” 

Lady Hillton shook her head. “ No, my dear ! We 
are too much country cousins to be admitted into Grafton 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


91 


Sherrard’s supreme set. I daresay you will be amused. 
I should like to go very well.” 

He has been here several times and seems a great 
chum of Mr. Merivale’s.” 

” Don’t you like him, then?” quickly. 

‘ ‘ I cannot tell as yet. I do not take likings or dis- 
likings suddenly. I am too slow.” 

“So much the better. Well, good-by, dear. Sir 
Thomas and the boys are longing to see you. You will 
be sure to come on Monday.” 

Kisses and good-bys, and Deen was left alone. Then 
she went up to the nursery, and telling Mrs. Raikes to 
go down to tea with the housekeeper, spent an hour 
talking and playing with her step-son. 

Yet Deen was not an instinctive lover of children. 
She had never been accustomed to them. Profound pity 
was her mental attitude towards them. Life seemed 
to her such a tremendous gift to be forced unasked on 
the helpless involuntary recipient. Though naturally 
happy, and blest with a certain power of enjoyment, 
she had seen much of sorrow, and had lived for years 
in the shadow of death, for she knew there was no 
hope of prolonged life for her father, her dear and 
infinitely sympathetic companion, who at times suffered 
much. 

To darken the dawn of a child’s life seemed to her of 
all cruelties the basest. It was to inflict on the defence- 
less a wrong which after-years could hardly ever right, 
and to her mind the duties of a child to a parent were 
light compared to what a parent owed to a child. 
Nevertheless, the whimsicality and restlessness of chil- 
dren worried her. To listen to their prattle when in 
quieter moods, to answer their questions and tell them 


92 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


stories, was a comparatively pleasant task. To be angry 
with a child was for her an impossibility ; to correct them 
gently and impressively was easy enough. 

For some weeks her little step-son was frequently a 
disappointment to her. His tendency to avoid punish- 
ment by lying appeared terribly strong, also his difficulty 
to resist doing what he well knew was forbidden ; yet he 
interested her deeply. He was affectionate and won- 
derfully unselfish for a child. Now that Lady Hillton 
had hinted at the reason of the mysterious cloud which 
had evidently arisen between Merivale and his first wife, 
this interest increased. She watched the child closely, 
seeking to perceive any signs of the fatality suggested ; 
but the more she watched the more she believed that, 
although unfortunately nervous and sensitive, the boy’s 
intelligence was keen rather than dull. This was the 
result of after-experience. At present she was touched 
by the joyous expression with which he ran forward to 
greet her. 

“ Oh, why, why did you not have me down to tea. 
Mamma ?’ ’ he exclaimed, jumping upon her with more 
of childish abandonment to impulse than she had seen 
in him before, and looking into his face she noticed that 
the strained, old look was disappearing. 

‘ ‘ I had some ladies, my sweet, with me ; and some 
ladies do not like little boys, — or children : boys or 
girls. ’ ’ 

“ I know,” shaking his head sagely, “people do not 
like little boys. Why are little boys always naughty ? 
They don’ t want to be naughty. ’ ’ 

“ I don’t suppose they do ; and perhaps they might 
try a little harder to be good. The reason why old people 
do not like little boys is because little boys cannot be 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


93 

quiet, and old people do not like noise. Tell me, dear, 
had you a nice walk ?’ ’ 

“No. We went into Kensington Gardens, and a very 
nice boy wanted me to race my hoop against his, and 
Nurse (she was cross and disagreeable) wouldn’t let me. 
I told her she was cross and nasty, and then I cried. So 
she brought me in ; and she did scold, all the way. 
Don’ t let her tell Papa ; he would beat me. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, no ; do not think so ; and we do not know what 
reason Mrs. Raikes had for bringing you in till I ask her. 
Come, dear child, do not think of your troubles. Get 
your big puzzle of Africa and we will put it together ; 
then I can tell you all about the animals ’ ’ 

“Oh, yes ; and. Mamma, I need not go down to- 
night?” 

“No. Father and I are going out to dinner, so I will 
stay with you a little longer. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, do, do ! Stay with me always, and send 
Nurse away.” 

“ I can’t do that, exactly ; but if you try to be a good 
boy, and, above all things, speak the truth, after a few 
months you shall go to a nice school where you shall have 
a nice, kind schoolmaster or mistress, and little boys like 
yourself to play with.” 

“ I would rather live with you, anyway. It’s a long 
time to be with Nurse.” 

“Mrs. Raikes,” said Mrs. Merivale, when that admir- 
able domestic returned, ^ ‘ Master Cecil seems rather 
vexed that you did not let him play with a little boy he 
met in Kensington Gardens this afternoon. I daresay 
you had some good reason. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Nasty tale-telling, lying little sneak !’ ’ was Mrs. 
Raikes’ s mental comment. 


94 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


You are right, Madam,” she said aloud. “ My ex- 
perience told me, as soon as I looked at him, that the dear 
child was only just recovering from measles, — a sin and 
a shame it is to those as has the care of him to let him 
out just at the worst time for himself and others ! I 
knew my duty better nor to let Master Cecil stay along- 
side of him a minute longer than I could ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Certainly, if that was the case you were quite right. 
Nurse.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Merivale dined that day at the house of 
great friends of the latter. Lord and Lady Arden, them- 
selves ennobled bankers of fabulous wealth. 

Deen noticed the keen, scrutinising glance with which 
her husband examined her from head to foot when she 
came into the drawing-room, where he awaited her. The 
expression of anxiety in his face amused her, yet she was 
glad to see it fade away as he gazed. 

She wore her wedding-dress, a beautiful creation (as 
most women would consider it) of white satin and deli- 
cate lace, amongst which sparkled many pin-points of 
light, where diamonds lurked. Indeed, face, figure, 
carriage, costume, — from the jewelled necklet round her 
snowy throat to the glittering buckles in her dainty 
shoes, — the whole seemed very perfect to him and worthy 
of his reputation for good taste. Deen understood ex- 
actly what he was thinking and • feeling, and thought of 
it indulgently ; but a faint sigh stirred her heart, as the 
idea shot through her mind that this deep anxiety about 
trifles, this desire that his wife should be admired by the 
world, was not exactly a characteristic of manliness. 

The dinner was very grand and rather dull, but Meri- 
vale was quite content. His wife made an unmistakable 
sensation, and so fulfilled the chief end of her existence. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


95 


Merivale was in a very amiable mood by the time they 
said good-night and drove homewards. 

“Slightly heavy, but well-intentioned people,” was 
his comment, as he drew up the carriage window against 
a chill March wind. “How did you find your right 
hand neighbour ?’ ’ 

“ Rather interesting. A man who seems to think.” 

“No doubt he does. He is Sutton, editor of The 
Scrutator, a very sound man. They say Arden really 
runs the paper. It is moderately conservative and very 
safe. ’ ’ 

“The natural tone for the wealthy. But how strange 
for a peer and a millionaire to have a newspaper !” 

“ Not at all, nowadays. In fact, one can do nothing 
big without a newspaper to advocate one’s cause. I hate 
all that sort of thing. That’s the reason I do not dabble in 
politics. It is impossible to touch pitch without the 
usual result.” 

‘ ‘ Still, Horace, if one can further measures which 
may help the masses ” 

“ My dear child, for heaven’s sake, don’t take up the 
humanitarian craze. Rest satisfied with your natural 
rdle, which is to be charming.” 

‘ ‘ Thank you. Such a speech is a bribe, is it not : a 
bribe to be useless ?’ ’ 

“Useless! You are infinitely useful. You play my 
accompaniments better than any one else.” 

“And that is quite enough,” returned Deen, laugh- 
ing merrily. 

“You had Lady Hillton with you this afternoon?” 
resumed Merivale, interrogatively. 

“Yes, and Cynthia. Cynthia is improving ; she will 
be a nice, interesting looking girl.” 


96 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


‘ ‘ There was room for improvement. And did you do 
the amiable mamma, and introduce your adopted son ?’ ’ 
This in a sarcastic tone. 

“No, Horace. I do not feel inclined to trouble my 
friends with a strange child, because I happen to be 
interested in him ; besides, I am sure you are right in 
thinking he ought to be kept quiet, and free from excite- 
ment. ’ ’ 

“You are coming round to my opinion, I see,” he 
returned. ‘ ‘ The child is weak. ’ ’ 

“He has not been well managed, that is all,” said 
Deen, and then the carriage stopped at their door. 


CHAPTER VII 


“I SHALL try to be a little before you at Grab’s,” 
were Merivale’s parting words to his wife as he left the 
house on the Saturday fixed for Sherrard’s tea party. 
* ‘ I don’ t suppose you would care to go in alone among 
so many strangers.” 

“Do not inconvenience yourself in the least for me,” 
she returned. “You know I have been meeting stran- 
gers all my life.” 

“Oh, very well! Anyway, I’ll be there in good 
time,” and Merivale went away. The thought that his 
wife was possibly too independent suggested itself. ‘ ‘ She 
was so long nurse and dictatress to her father, that she 
does not think any one else matters much. However, 
she seems to get on very well with most people. ’ ’ 

When Mrs. Merivale reached Sherrard’s rooms, they 
were moderately full. The house, in which he occupied 
two floors, was large and old-fashioned, — the rooms, 
paneled in oak and rather gloomy. They were luxuri- 
ously furnished, but were unmistakably a marC s rooms. 
They consisted of a large dining-room and a sitting- 
room (half-study, half-library), with a small nondescript 
apartment in which people on business could wait. 

Some good pictures, chiefly historical portraits, fine 
bronzes, busts of well-known literary and political per- 
sonages, adorned the library ; trophies of the chase and 
curious arms from various countries, the dining-room. 
It was still light enough to perceive the details of furni- 

7 97 


98 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


ture and decoration, and Deen noticed the complete ab- 
sence of petit maitre-dom^ which at present prevails so 
often in the apartments of bachelors. A tone of mas- 
sive simplicity pervaded the place, which she rather 
liked. 

Some of the guests were looking through a large port- 
folio of rare prints, on a large stand ; others moved to 
and from the small third room, where tea, coffee, and 
much besides were dispensed ; but the majority sat or 
stood in groups of twos and threes, enjoying the inex- 
haustible diversion of talk, — /.<?., gossip. 

Deen was struck by the cosmopolite air of the guests, 
especially the female part of it. The majority were well, 
even exquisitely dressed, while a small minority were 
curiously, even grotesquely attired. The men were 
more of Sherrard’s own class, — aristocratic clublings and 
travellers, — with a sprinkling of long-haired, artist-pro- 
fessor looking individuals. 

Near the fire were a couple deeply engaged in conver- 
sation, who attracted Deen’s notice. A lady of her own 
age, small, slight, graceful, very brunette, with a rich 
colour, big lustrous eyes, and thickly-fringed eyelids, 
which made them look sleepy at times. Her companion 
was a tall, slim, gentleman-like young man, with slight, 
fair moustache, and silky, light-brown hair. He was 
pale, and had pale eyes ; yet he had a pleasant expres- 
sion, and looked like a good fellow. 

“Your truant husband is not here to meet you, Mrs. 
Merivale,” said her host, when they had exchanged 
greetings. 

“ But he will be here soon. What a charming apart- 
ment, Mr. Sherrard. Do you know, this is the first time 
I ever had tea in a bachelor’s rooms?” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


99 


Indeed! Were you inexorable, or the bachelors 
churlish?” 

“Neither; but I have lived more on the Continent 
than in England, and there afternoon tea rarely exists, 
and bachelors are less luxurious.” 

‘ ‘ Come and try my tea. I try to have it as good as 
possible, as I do everything. It is despicable to be 
satisfied with anything less than the best, if you can 
possibly manage it. ’ ’ 

“You have succeeded ?” said Deen to him a few min- 
utes after, as she sipped her tea. “This is most excel- 
lent. ’ ’ 

“Yes. Your husband and I have a strange liking for 
the best things in life, and we get them. He, of course, 
can buy them, and I manage as best I can. But Meri- 
vale has beaten the record in his last acquisition. No 
one is likely to distance him now.” 

Deen almost shrank from the bold, unveiled admira- 
tion in his audacious eyes as he said this, but she took no 
notice of the remark beyond observing that money could 
do much, but could not impart taste to the possessor. 

‘ ‘ If you will not take more tea, come back to the 
library. Various people want to be introduced to you, 
— you need not trouble about that, — among them being 
a certain Mrs. Darrell, who used to be an ally of Meri- 
vale’s ; rather a bright little woman.” 

“Yes,” interrupted Dean, “Mr. Merivale has men- 
tioned her to me. I shall be pleased to make her ac- 
quaintance. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ All right. Come along, then. ’ ’ 

They returned to the library, and near the entrance 
met the little woman with lustrous eyes, — now without 
her attendant cavalier. 


lOO 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


We are looking for you, Mrs. Darrell,” said Sher- 
rard. “Mrs. Merivale wishes to be introduced to 
you. ’ ’ 

The big bright eyes were lifted to Deen’s with a kind 
of appealing expression, as if they said, “I am a poor 
desolate little creature, won’t you be good to me.” 

This touched the more prosperous woman, who smiled 
benignly. 

“ I have heard Mr. Merivale speak of you,” she said, 

‘ ‘ and should like to have the pleasure of making your 
acquaintance. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Ah, we all wish to know you, ’ ’ returned the pretty 
little widow, in a flattering tone. “You have not lived 
much in London, I believe, or we could not have been 
so ignorant.” 

“Yes, I am comparatively a stranger in my own 
country,” returned Deen. “ But there is a universality 
about London that makes it less strange than any other 
strange place.” 

They spoke together on ordinary topics for a few min- 
utes, and then Deen recognised Merivale making his 
way slowly across the room, stopping every minute to 
speak to some one, while he looked sharply round, as if 
searching for some one. Then his eyes met his wife’s, 
and he smiled pleasantly. Approaching as quickly as 
he could, he greeted Mrs. Darrell, and contrived to 
press Deen’s hand unnoticed. Deen was gratified to 
remark his distinguished air, to feel the charm of his 
manner. 

‘ ^ My predecessor must have mismanaged him ter- 
ribly, ’ ’ she thought, ‘ ‘ to leave such a legacy of dislike 
to her child. Horace must come to his right mind about 
the boy. He is not naturally unjust. I hope I shall 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


lOI 


reconcile father and son.” Cheered by this hope she 
smiled brightly on him, and Sherrard, looking on 
critically, made comparisons, by no means odious, be- 
tween the fair beauty in moss-green velvet, trimmed 
with black and gold, and a seductive little toque adorned 
with violets, and the brunette in violet cashmere and 
crowned by a perfect little bonnet, with yellow pansies 
nestling under the brim on the glossy black hair beneath. 
Sherrard was keenly alive to the charm of grace even 
more than of beauty. In short, if a woman had neither, 
she had, according to his views, no right to exist. Yet 
he hated a stupid woman also. One who bored him was 
equally unworthy of life. Grace, softness, and intelli- 
gence enough to appreciate Grafton Sherrard : these 
were the only qualities which could raise a woman above 
the rank of “hewers of wood and drawers of water.” 
In return for these qualities, Grafton Sherrard was dis- 
posed to give as little as possible. He was one of those 
men who are absolutely ungenerous, though open-handed 
in some directions. 

‘ ‘ Come, Merivale, ’ ’ he said, after listening and looking 
for a brief interval. ‘ ‘ I have promised Gabrielli, who 
has heard a great deal of you and your singing, that he 
should hear you to-day. There are lots of your songs 
in the music-stand.” 

‘ ‘ My dear fellow, a professional like Gabrielli will only 
sneer at the pretensions of an amateur. ’ ’ 

“ Nonsense ! You are equal to the best of them. Eh, 
Mrs. Merivale? 

‘ ‘ I think so, certainly. Do try that Sicilienne Sere- 
nade you learned at Palermo. It is charming, and we 
can do it without the notes. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Are you sure ?’ ’ asked Merivale, anxiously. 


102 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ Quite sure, or I should not suggest it.” 

“Well, make Gabrielli sing first.” 

“All right,” returned Sherrard, and walked off, re- 
turning in a few minutes, followed by the Italian tenor, 
a tall, stout, good-humoured and somewhat greasy- 
looking man. He said, “Will you extricate us from a 
difficulty, Mrs. Darrell ? Signor Gabrielli did not antici- 
pate music, and did not bring his accompanist. I know 
your capabilities in that direction. Will you play for 
him ?” 

“Ah!” — a long drawn “Ah!” — “I scarcely dare 
trust my nerves with such a task ! To play for Signor 
Gabrielli is to attain a giddy height. ’ ’ 

“Oh, Madam, mine is the honour, if you will be so 
gracious. ’ ’ 

“ I will answer for you, Mrs. Darrell,” said Merivale. 

‘ ‘ Madam has often accompanied me^ Signor Gabrielli, 
and I know she is faithful and discriminating.” The 
result of these pour parlours was that the fashionable 
tenor and Mrs. Darrell went to the piano and tickled the 
ears of the audience with a tear-compelling aria from the 
last new opera. 

After the plaudits which succeeded, Mrs. Merivale 
drew off her gloves and sat down in the place vacated 
by Mrs. Darrell. After a few moments of a delightful 
harp-like prelude, she glided into an accompaniment of 
chords. Then Merivale began a song full of tenderness 
and passion, admirably given, and loudly applauded. 

‘ ‘ Come and have some tea, or champagne, or 
something, ’ ’ said Sherrard, ‘ ‘ after your admirable per- 
formance. It is a shame that Merivale should have such 
a golden voice as well as such treasures of gold and 
silver. It ought to have been allotted to some poor 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


103 

devil who never had an independent sixpence. Then he 

might have coined money. As it is ” 

‘ ‘ Mr. Merivale can share, as he does, with many who 
haven’ t sixpence, ’ ’ said Deen, with a sweet, frank laugh. 

‘ ‘ Admirably parried ! Charming wifely loyalty ! 
Alas ! how many enthusiasts of the same description I 
have known wither away into cool, dispassionate, scarcely 
favorable judges of husbands, for whom a few years back 
they were ready to lay lance in rest. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Pooh ! I am surprised you should parade such 
cheap cynicism, my dear Mr. Sherrard,” she returned, 
smiling. “Time may tone down the gloss from the 
vivid colouring of one’s first advocacy ; but the backbone 
of belief and partisanship may remain as straight and 
strong as ever. ’ ’ 

“You are no mean antagonist, Mrs. Merivale, and 
can be a potent advocate, nevertheless. Well, ten years 
hence, when I trust I may be even more your friend than 
I am at this moment, we’ll see how the current runs. 
Meantime, I want you to look at my books. I am a 
collector, though not much of a reader. Here are a lot 
of curious old works in the Langue d’oc. These are 
Breton Ballads ; and, here, you know this book. ’ ’ He 
took down one and held it towards her. She recognised 
the volume of her father’s essays. 

“I do, indeed !’’ exclaimed Deen. “And have you 
read it ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I have read several of the essays, yes, but do not, 
however, agree with the writer on all points. He views 
life through somewhat rose-coloured glasses.” 

‘ ‘ Don’ t you think there is, on the whole, more 
truth in the rose than in the sombre hued view of life ?’ ’ 
“ No ; certainly not,” was the prompt reply. “ Even 


104 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


you , — and your experience must have been chiefly limited 
to the rose-coloured pages, — even you must have noticed 
how largely men, and women, too, are actuated by sel- 
fishness, envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness. 
Human nature is very unalterable. What it was in the 
days of Christ and his disciples, so it is in the days of 
Gladstone and his, with an additional strand of weakness 
twisted into the coil, but people naturally turn up their 
best sides to a creature like you. ’ ’ 

And again he looked at her with the bold, hard, ad- 
miring look, which was, she thought, much more of- 
fensive than flattering. 

‘ ‘ I will not permit it or shrink from it, ’ ’ flashed 
along the electric currents which ply between the brain 
and the will, and she raised her eyes to his, keeping 
them steadily fixed upon them with a cold firmness, be- 
neath which his turned away with an irresistible con- 
fession of defeat, the consciousness of which filled him 
with fierce, quick anger. He felt as if he had been 
struck by a foe that despised him. 

“ Infernal vipers, these strong-minded women. Who 
could have suspected kerf I’d like to bring her to her 
knees, ’ ’ he thought. ‘ ‘ I don’ t fancy your spectacles 
would fit he said, aloud. “The writing of these 
papers is admirable, though I am rather an outsider in 
matters literary. I think I have an eye, or an ear, for 
^style, and this essay on ‘ The Patience of Strength’ seems 
to me quite admirable, not that I admit the probability 
or possibility of such a mental condition ; still it is a 
pretty theme for a prose poem. My own experience 
suggests only the similarity between life and a hard- 
fought campaign, where God is always on the side of 
the biggest battalions. ’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


105 


“Ah, Mr. Sherrard,” said Deen, not caring to con- 
tinue the discussion or to convert her antagonist. ‘ ‘ We 
are too profoundly dissimilar to argue. Your shield is 
always black and mine white ; still it is the same shield. ’ ’ 

“ Exactly ! Yet I hope you will not abandon me to 
my evil doctrines. I am quite willing to be converted.” 

“When the Devil was sick, the Devil a Monk would be ; 

When the Devil was well, the Devil a Monk was he.” 

quoted Mrs. Merivale, smiling. 

‘ ‘ I fear my malady will not be so speedily cured, ’ ’ 
murmured Sherrard, but he cast down his eyes mod- 
estly as he said it. 

“ Deen,” exclaimed Merivale, coming up behind her, 

‘ ‘ they want me to sing again. Will you play ?’ ’ 

“Yes, with pleasure.” She was glad to escape from 
Sherrard, against whom she felt a curious antagonism 
which rarely sprang up in her mind against a stranger. 

“ Yes ; of course.” She saw that her husband wore 
that serene and satisfied expression which always indi- 
cated gratified amour propre^ a state of mind in which he 
was always at his best. His next song was as successful 
as the first, and then he wisely determined to leave. 

‘ ‘ Shall we offer to set Mrs. Darrell down at her house. 

I don’t think she has a carriage,” he said to his wife. 

“ Oh, yes ; by all means,” was the ready reply. 

‘ ‘ Ask her, then. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Darrell was a little surprised and greatly pleased 
when Deen said, ‘ ‘ I believe our ways home lie to- 
gether. Shall we have the pleasure of your company as 
far as your own abode ?’ ’ 

The little widow accepted the offer very readily, and. 


io6 THE STEP-MOTHER 

having made an appointment to dine together at Linden 
Gardens and go to see the newest play on the following 
Tuesday, they took leave of their host. 

Invitations now poured in on the newly-wedded pair, 
and the various social duties gathering round her, only 
left Deen an hour or two in the morning, and a brief in- 
terview between her return from the afternoon round of 
card-leaving and shopping, and dressing for dinner, to 
bestow on her step-son. 

The child puzzled her a good deal, — sometimes he 
seemed delightfully affectionate, sweet, and candid ; 
sometimes crafty, untruthful, mean. She distrusted 
her own power of dealing with such a complex charac- 
ter, knowing how inexperienced she was in the manage- 
ment of children. 

One thing was clear to her : the nurse, in whom his 
father had so much confidence, was unsuited, and 
inimical, to the development of the child’s better nature. 
He disliked and feared her. It hurt her compassionate 
heart to see the furtive glances the poor fellow cast at 
her from time to time, to observe how his countenance 
cleared and grew frankly childish when he was left alone 
with his step-mother. 

‘ ‘ I must get rid of that woman, ’ ’ she mused late 
one afternoon, as she sat alone waiting for the boy to 
join her before she dressed. ‘ ‘ And it will not be easy 
to do so. It is very difficult to make Horace hear 
reason on this subject, and in trying to do justice to the 
child I may estrange the father more and more. I will 
not ask advice, for I will not betray my husband’ s weak- 
ness. I must coax and manage. I little thought I should 
ever find Horace so deficient in right feeling. But I am 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


107 


foolish to allow myself to be so depressed. Things must 
come right. I must bring him round, or we shall drift 
apart.” 

Here the door opened cautiously, and a small figure 
glided in. Cecil paused, glanced cautiously round the 
room, and seeing his step-mother was alone, sprang 
towards her with a low cry of pleasure. 

“Well, dear ! Have you been a good boy since we 
had our walk together this morning ?’ ’ 

“ Yes — no — that is, Nurse told me not to touch a pair 
of gloves she had washed, and put to dry on the fender, 
but she went away for something, and I kept thinking 
how much quicker they would dry if I held them to the 
fire — so I couldn’t help it. Then I let one drop, and a 
red coal fell on it just as Nurse came back. Oh, she did 
scold ; but she didn’ t beat me !’ ’ 

“ Beat you?” echoed Deen. 

“ Oh, she hasn’t beat me since we came up here.” 

Deen paused. It would not do to encourage the little 
fellow to tell tales, yet she longed to question him. 

“I suppose, Cecil, you are a better boy than you 
used to be, and Mrs. Raikes is less vexed with you?” 

“ Perhaps,” he returned thoughtfully, settling himself 
on Deen’s knee, with his head against her shoulder. 

‘ ‘ And she is afraid of you. Susie said she was a cruel 
old hag. She musn’t be cruel here ; eh. Mammy?” 

“You have been unkind to her. Tell me the truth, 
Cecil, did you bite her hand ?” 

Cecil hesitated, and played with the lace on his 
“mammy’s” dress. 

‘ ‘ Yes, I did. But listen, I will tell you why, and I am 
not sorry. At Larch Hill I had a little kitten, such a 
nice black-and-grey kitten. It was so fond of me, and 


io8 THE STEP-MOTHER 

when Susie was busy and Nurse away, or couldn’t be 
troubled with me, I didn’t mind if I had kitty. It used 
to be so funny with a bit of string and a cotton reel. 
One day it got into Nurse’s cupboard and knocked down 
a bottle. I heard it go smash, then I ran in, and there 
was a nasty strong smell. Oh, Nurse was in a rage ! I 
was afraid to look at her. She took my poor kitty by 
the neck. It cried, so I ran and tried to take it away. 
I begged and prayed and cried to her to forgive kitty, 
but she wouldn’ t, and then she opened the window and 

threw my poor little kitty out — to ” he began to 

sob, “ out to Grip, the big mastiff that lived in the yard 
below, and killed every cat he came near. I knew he 
would tear my kitty to bits, and he did ; then I didn’ t 
care, and I bit her hand hard — hard. I wish I could 
have bit it harder, and hope it hurt badly. I couldn’ t 
sleep thinking of how my kitty cried for me and I 
couldn’t help it ! I think I went mad — Nurse thought 
so — and the doctor came. He shook his head. He 
said I was very bad, naughty, or sick ; I do not know 
which. Oh ! if you had been there.” 

This tragedy was detailed with tears and sobs, while 
the child’s fragile frame quivered at the memory of that 
great agony. 

Deen pressed him to her bosom, soothing him as best 
she could, while her pulse throbbed with indignation. 

“I hate Nurse ! I didn’t mind her boxing me, but 
since she killed my kitty, I hate her, hate her !” 

” No wonder ! It was a cruel, bad thing to do.” 

“Will you send her away?” 

” Be patient — try to be obedient and good, and I will 
do the best I can for you, Cecil, my poor, dear child. I 
love you, my dear ; I will always love you.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


109 

“Will you put me to bed, and not let Nurse touch 
me?” 

‘ ‘ I will if you are content to go to bed almost imme- 
diately ?” 

“Yes, now.” 

“Come, then,” she rose. 

“Don’t tell Nurse?” 

“ I will not,” pressing the little hot, tremulous hand 
which clasped hers. 

The nursery was empty when they reached it. Mrs. 
Raikes generally spent the time that her mistress gave 
to the boy with the housekeeper, who was an agreeable 
woman of the world (her world). So to Cecil’s infinite 
enjoyment, his step-mother helped him (awkwardly 
enough) to undress. But the boy, thanks to Mrs. 
Raikes’ s aversion to trouble, could help himself handily 
enough, and perceiving that Deen did not understand 
the routine usually observed, he was greatly amused at 
her mistakes. 

‘ ‘ But are you not bathed every evening ?’ ’ she asked. 

“No. Nurse says it is better to bathe one in the 
morning. ’ ’ 

“lam not sure ! Where is your night-shirt?” 

“ Oh, in the drawers near my bed. I’ll get it. I’ll 
not wash my hands, please ; I want to be in bed before 
Nurse comes. See, you have left my tunic on the chair ; 
you ought to put it on the horse. ’ ’ 

He was laughing loudly at this error, when Mrs. 
Raikes, looking much disturbed, even alarmed, came into 
the room. 

“ Law ’m ! I thought Master Cecil was taken bad?” 

“ No ; he was rather feverish ! So, as he asked me, I 
agreed to put him to bed. I am afraid he was dis- 


no 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


obedient, Mrs. Raikes, and managed to burn his glove. 
He is sorry. Are you not, Cecil?” 

“Oh, yes ; I am,” returned Cecil, cheerfully. 

‘ ‘ There’ s mischief brewing, ’ ’ thought Mrs. Raikes, 
while she said smoothly, “ if Master Cecil would only do 
as he’s bid, there couldn’t be a nicer boy.” 

“That is true, Cecil. I must leave you, dear,” con- 
tinued Deen, settling his pillow and tucking up the clothes. 

‘ ‘ To-morrow I will take you out early, and I hope to have 
a good account. God bless you, dear. Good-night !” 

She kissed him affectionately, and left the room. 

“Well, my word ! and what next, I wonder,” solilo- 
quised Mrs. Raikes. ‘ ‘ Madam is just cutting a stick to 
beat her own back ! If I can only get speech of the Mas- 
ter, I’ll tell him of the ruination that’s going on. There’ll 
be no holding that brat, at this rate. She is just a self- 
opinionated, upset, ignorant creature, as does not know 
how to value a respectable, experienced person. Why 
she doesn’t like me, I cannot tell, but she don’t. Any- 
way, she won’ t get rid of me easy. ’ ’ 

Deen was surprised at the emotion Cecil’ s story had 
excited. She could not keep her eyes from seeing the 
picture evoked by his words of the lonely, friendless 
child tortured by the sight of his little pet’s suffering, 
and incapable of saving it. What a terrible experience 
for a child ! She certainly would, on the first favourable 
opportunity, tell the pathetic tale to Merivale. Surely he 
would be touched, and agree with her as to the wisdom 
of dismissing this vulgar tyrant, and seeking a more 
suitable companion for their boy. How glad she would 
be to take her share of responsibility and trouble. 

Meantime, she dressed with care, and was quite ready 
when Merivale emerged from his dressing-room. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


III 


He was not as well pleased as usual with his wife’s 
costume, and she was amazed and slightly amused at the 
hardship it was to him that time did not permit of her 
changing it. 

Was it worth a man’s while to trouble about a trifle 
like that ? 

“ I am so sorry, dear, you do not like my dress,” she 
said, good-humouredly. ‘ ‘ I will have it changed in 
some way before I wear it again. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ The carriage is at the door, ’ ’ he returned, rather un- 
graciously. ‘ ‘ Do not let us lose any more time. ’ ’ 

The house where they were to dine belonged to a city 
magnate, for Merivale’s social circle embraced the solid 
substratum of business people, as well as the airy efflo- 
rescence of rank and fashion. Indeed, exclusiveness no 
longer exists, and on the whole so much the better. 
Whoever can contribute to the amusement or amazement 
of Society, its needs of luxury or variety, is welcomed 
with open arms. The freedom thus gained, from no very 
exalted motives, tends to break down barriers and create 
a better feeling between classes, because of improved 
knowledge. 

The party was pleasant enough. It was what Meri- 
vale termed a geographical house. The master being 
the head of a great firm, with branches in all parts of the 
world, travellers more or less distinguished were gener- 
ally to be met with at his hospitable board. 

Deen enjoyed her talk with a man just returned from 
a visit to Thibet, and was rather sorry when her husband, 
who had not felt himself quite as important as usual, and 
was consequently bored, told her the carriage waited, in 
a tone she understood meant immediate departure. 

“The menu was altogether somewhat heavy,” said 


1 12 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


Merivale, leaning back as they drove away. ‘ ‘ Green 
turtle soup at dinner, Thibet and the Llamas after it, is 
more than my digestion is equal to. You are a wonder- 
ful woman, Deen. I do not think you are ever bored ?’ ’ 

“ I am indeed, Horace, but not often. There are such 
heaps of interesting things to talk about, you see. You 
know I am but half-educated. I was never properly 
taught anything, so there is room in my mind for heaps 
of things which other people understand all about. I 
can play a little, but it is a revelation to me to hear you 
talk of the theory of music, or I should say the science. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ If all women were as ill-educated as you are, the 
world would be a pleasanter place, ’ ’ said Merivale, gal- 
lantly. “ By the bye, I shall get away home to-morrow 
tolerably early. We can try over that new German song. 
You are a pretty good German scholar, are you not? It 
is a language I never could get on with very well. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I can speak it a little, but I cannot say I know it. 
You see, my ear helps me to pick up the way of saying 
things in a foreign language.” 

“That is enough for me,” and, the carriage stopping 
as he spoke, Merivale descended to assist his wife. 

‘ ‘ Bring me some brandy and potash, ’ ’ he said to the 
butler, as he turned into the dining-room. ‘ ‘ I must 
soothe turtle and Thibet into quiescence before I try to 
sleep. It is early yet.” 

Having quaffed the desired draught, Merivale threw 
himself back in his chair. 

“ Come here, sit by me, ma belle he said. “ I want 
to see what is wrong in your frock. There is some fun- 
damental error in it.” 

Dean threw off her cloak of crimson plush, and smil- 
ingly submitted to his criticisms, readily admitting that 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


113 

his suggestions were improvements, and, finding his 
mood so friendly and tranquil, she thought it was a 
favourable opportunity to try the effect of Cecil’s story. 

“Do you know, Horace, I think I have heard the 
true explanation of Nurse’s bitten hand.’’ 

“The true one. From Mrs. Raikes?’’ 

“No, from Cecil. Do listen, dear. I shall not be 
long.’’ 

Merivale composed himself with an impatient, reluctant 
air of submission. 

Deen tried to convey something of the pathos she 
had found in the child’s narrative ; her voice trembled 
between feeling and the desire to convey the impression 
she had received, and the moisture gathered in her wistful 
eyes. 

“If you had only heard him, Horace, you would 
have felt as I did that your son, your own little boy, had 
had a cruel life. Let us try and and atone for the past 
to him. I will help you, dear love — I ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Really, Deen, I did not think you were so far gone 
in sentimentalism. Had I heard the interesting his- 
toriette, I daresay my impression would have been that 
my own little boy, as you touchingly call him, was a 
cleverer liar than I thought. If that Mrs. Raikes did 
throw the cat out of the window, I daresay the beast 
deserved it, and that evil-tempered brat must be taught 
submission. My idea that he is partially imbecile in- 
creases every day.” 

“ I deeply regret having mentioned the matter to 
you,” said Deen, in a low voice. “ I will not mention 
Cecil to you again ; for a long time, at least. But before 
I quit the subject I must tell you that I think Mrs. 
Raikes by no means a fit person to be with him. He 
8 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


114 

fears and dislikes her. He ought to have a younger, 
better educated, better class nurse or nursery governess. 
Do commission me to find one and send Mrs. Raikes 
away. ’ ’ 

“ I do not see why I am to dismiss a faithful servant 
who has done her duty admirably because you choose to 
give way to a sentimental crotchet, my dear. Raikes 
will prevent your completely spoiling the wretched 
creature. Good- night. I shall go to bed. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER VIII 


This conclusion of her effort to touch Meri vale’s heart 
and conscience was a bitter blow to Deen. 

She did nothing to irritate him ; but she did not 
attempt to conceal a certain degree of coldness which 
she could not resist. 

Merivale noticed and resented it. Thus the thin end 
of that potent wedge, estrangement, was inserted between 
them, and Deen recognised the danger of the cleavage 
becoming deep and wide. 

The day but one after this very unsatisfactory con- 
versation Deen took the boy, rather earlier than usual, 
into Kensington Gardens. 

It was a lovely morning that seemed borrowed from 
May. A soft flush of tender green was on the trees, the 
birds were full of song, the air of that delicious spring 
warmth that laps you in an enervating atmosphere of 
dreamy indolence, after the exhaustion of wintry force, 
from which Nature rises recruited, to do battle with every- 
day difficulties. 

Deen enjoyed the sunshine and indescribable sense of 
recrudescence. Cecil, who was becoming more and 
more like her own child, played with his hoop, though 
his runs with it were short, and he always returned to 
hold his “mother’s” hand, and ask her questions. 

Deen had taught him to use “mother,” rather than 
“mamma.” When a voice beside her said, “Are you 
doing nurse, Mrs. Merivale?” Deen turned, and saw 

“5 


ii6 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


Mrs. Darrell in a severely simple morning costume, with 
a straw bonnet adorned with primroses. 

“Yes, I am ; and I do not at all dislike the occupa- 
tion,” returned Deen, shaking hands With her. 

“Ah, there was a time when I loved it,” returned 
Mrs. Darrell, with a sigh. “ As I am going nowhere in 
particular, may I come with you ?’ ’ 

“Oh, yes; pray do,” said Deen, cordially. “The 
gardens are delightful, and the air so spring-like this 
morning. Still, it is enervating. Do you not find the 
walk here rather fatiguing from your home ?’ ’ 

“ Well, yes. I had to call on Lady Janet Dobson, at 
the other side of the Park, and the bright morning 
tempted me to come on here. I always enjoy the morn- 
ing. The afternoon is so crammed with nothings.” 

‘ ‘ That is what I feel !’ ’ exclaimed Deen, impulsively. 
“ In the strenuous pursuit of pleasure, I never have time 
to do anything I like,” she added, laughing. 

“Yours must be a brilliant existence, Mrs. Merivale,” 
with a sigh. ‘ ‘ What a pretty, delicate-looking boy ! 
Dreadfully spoiled, I suppose?” 

“ No, I do not think he is. I find him very interest- 
ing. I never knew any child intimately before, and I 
am growing very fond of him.” 

“Ah,” cried Mrs. Darrell, shaking her head and 
gazing at Deen with moist, sad eyes, ‘ ‘ wait till you have 
a boy of your own! You will not care much about 
Mr. Merivale’ s son then.” 

“ Indeed, I should, I believe. As my husband’s son, 
he would have a chaim on my affection,” returned Deen, 
flushing slightly. * ‘ Then, I think, having a baby of my 
own would make me more motherly. I am sure you 
must feel that. ’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


II7 

“ I do not think I ever cared a straw for any children 
except my own. I loved them passionately enough. 
They were my only comforts,- for I had rather a hard 
life, and both were taken from me. Moreover, their loss 
condemns me to poverty. But I must not worry you 
with my woes. Come here. What is his name ? Cecil ? 
Come, and kiss me, dear. I once had a sweet little boy 
just about your size ; but I have lost him. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Who took him away ?’ ’ asked Cecil, rather interested. 
“ Oh, God. God took him to heaven.” 

“Then he is very happy. No one boxes your ears 
in heaven, do they ?’ ’ 

“What a funny little fellow,” cried Mrs. Darrell, 
laughing loudly. “Fancy one’s ears being boxed in 
heaven !” 

Deen smiled somewhat sadly, as she thought of the 
experience Cecil’s remark implied. She changed the 
subject, and they talked of every-day matters till, near- 
ing Linden Gardens, it struck Mrs. Merivale that her 
companion had a considerable distance to go before she 
could reach home and luncheon. 

“ Pray come in to luncheon with us, Mrs. Darrell,” 
she said, “unless you have an engagement. It would 
be doing me a kindness. I generally lunch alone. Your 
company would be most acceptable. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ And yours to me, ’ ’ exclaimed the ‘ ‘ invitee, ’ ’ with 
a certain gay abruptness which some men found attrac- 
tive. ‘ ‘ I hate being alone. I can only keep thought 
at bay by having people about me, even when they are 
bores. I shall be delighted to join you. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I am so pleased you can ; and you will not mind 
having this little man of the party ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Good Lord !’ ’ thought Mrs. Darrell. ‘ ‘ Why does 


ii8 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


she trouble herself with the brat ? Oh, no ; certainly 
not!” she said aloud. “He seems a very nice little 
fellow. I suppose he has been kept in good order? 
Mr. Merivale would not allow any bad manners, I am 
sure. It is better, I suppose, to keep a strict hand with 
children, but I never could manage it.” 

A few more steps brought them to the Merivale man- 
sion — it was a corner house, and picturesque outside as 
well as in. 

‘ ‘ What a charming abode, ’ ’ exclaimed Mrs. Darrell, 
looking round her as they entered the large oblong hall 
at the back of which a handsome oak staircase led to the 
rooms above. ‘ ‘ I came here once before to a big 
luncheon party Mr. Merivale gave, to introduce an 
American singer, Fraulein something she called herself. 
She made a great success subsequently. I don’ t fancy 
anything Mr. Merivale takes up is apt to fail ; and I 
thought it a lovely house then. It seems more charming 
now. We women, dear Mrs. Mervaile, have the gift of 
making places homelike and live-able. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That is, or ought to be, our pleasure and our duty I 
Run away, dear, and ask Mrs. Raikes to make you fit to 
sit down to luncheon.” This to Cecil. 

“ Men are so exacting,” said Mrs. Darrell, plaintively, 
thinking that possibly this might be Mrs. Merivale’ s line. 

“ Possibly. Then you know they have had irrespon- 
sible power for centuries that would spoil an archangel, 
and as they do all the rough work outside, I think home 
ought to be made very smooth and happy for them. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Why, my dear Mrs. Merivale, I thought you were 
quite an advanced woman ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Au contraire. I am an extremely backward one. I 
do not object to the independence of my sister woman. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 119 

but I love my brother man ! Men have always been 
good to me.’* 

“ I daresay they have,” said Mrs. Darrell, emphati- 
cally. 

‘ ‘ Come into the dining-room. It is not necessary to go 
upstairs. We can put off our bonnets here, as there are 
no ‘ brother men’ here to shock. ’ ’ 

She led the way into a beautiful room, ending in an 
elongated bay, the windows of which looked upon a 
garden or pleasure ground, which sloped up to a row of 
flowering shrubs which effectually hid the final wall, 
taking away the ‘ ‘ town’ ’ look altogether. Persian 
carpets, dark carved oak, rare blue china and choice 
pictures, made an ideal salle a manger. 

‘ ‘ And all this might have been mine, ’ ’ thought Mrs. 
Darrell, ‘ ‘ if that good-looking, conceited, adorable 
Croesus, Merivale, had not picked this ‘ Una’ of a wife. 
(I fancy I know who would like to be her lion.) I 
should have suited him twice as well. I rather think she 
is in earnest, and believes him an ideal hero. When she 
finds out he is only lath and plaster, she will betray her- 
self. Now, knowing the truth, I should believe through 
thick and thin. How unlucky I am ! I hope she has a 
good cook. One of the curses of poverty is a squalid 
cuisine. On the whole, Lotta isn’ t bad. I must keep 
her.” By this time both ladies had removed their hats 
and lunch was on the table. 

‘ ‘ How delicious the perfume of those lovely orchids 
is,” said Mrs. Darrell, seating herself on her hostess’s 
right-hand. ‘ ‘ I have a craze for orchids. ’ ’ 

” I believe we have rather' a good show at Larch Hill, 
Mr. Merivale’ s box in Kent ; but I have not seen the 
place yet. What have we, Peters ?’ ’ to the butler. 


120 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“Cutlets ^ la Marengo^ boiled chicken, and lobster 
curry, Madam.” 

A sigh upheaved Mrs. Darrell’s bosom. 

“You are a little late, Cecil,” said Deen, as the boy 
came into the room. ‘ ‘ Give Master Cecil some 
chicken. ’ ’ 

“Can she really care for the poor little creature?” 
thought Mrs. Darrell. “Oh, what a house to rule 
over ! I should have made it the envy of all London. 
I doubt if she will. ’ ’ 

The dainties before her distracted her attention. 

“Hock?” whispered the butler, confidentially, “or 
Moselle ?” 

“Moselle. What! are you a water-drinker, Mrs. 
Merivale? You make me ashamed of myself.” 

‘ ‘ Why should you be ashamed ? Accident made me 
a water-drinker when I was very young, and now I am 
so habituated to it I care for nothing else. To many 
people wine is quite necessary. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Darrell enjoyed her luncheon, the delicate ele- 
gance of the appointments, the flowers, — the perfection 
of everything. 

When coffee had been served, Mrs. Merivale led the 
way to a pretty sitting-room, on the same floor, evidently 
the especial den of the lady of the house. It opened on 
a tiny terrace, from which two steps led down to the 
garden. 

“You can go and dig in your own little corner, Cecil, 
but be sure you do not go on the beds. ’ ’ 

The boy went off gaily when his step-mother opened 
the French window. Then the two ladies settled into a 
semi- confidential talk, — that is, Mrs. Darrell returned to 
the subject of her children. Glancing lightly, with a sort 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


I2I 


of rueful humour, at her difficulties, she managed to con- 
vey an impression of pluck, of resignation, not untinged 
with warm feeling, which touched her listener and won 
her sincere sympathy. 

Then the carriage was announced, and Been proposed 
to take her guest on a round of shopping, — which finished 
what Mrs. Darrell felt was a well-spent day, full of prom- 
ise for future success. 

Mr. and Mrs. Merivale dined alone that evening. 
They were to show themselves afterwards at a reception 
held by a very political great lady, and Deen was pleased 
to see that her husband looked approving as she de- 
scribed her meeting with Mrs. Darrell and their luncheon 
together. 

‘ ‘ She is a nice little woman, and immensely improved 
since I first met her. She was a little unpolished — what 
shall I say — a diamond ‘ slightly in the rough’ ? But she 
had the sense to appreciate good advice, and now she 
is — well, ‘ all one could wish. ’ As my wife, your friend- 
ship might be of great use to her. That old savage, her 
brother-in-law, has behaved abominably to her.” 

‘ ‘ Has he ? What a shame ! I am very sorry for her. ’ ’ 

Arrived at their destination, Deen had to go through 
endless introductions, as this was her first appearance in 
public, and Merivale was highly pleased by the effect 
she evidently produced. The party was large and dis- 
tinguished and very agreeable to Mrs. Merivale, as she 
met several former acquaintances, chiefly foreigners, 
literary and diplomatic, whom she had met during her 
continental wanderings, and, as they were more or less 
persons of distinction, her husband was pleased to be 
gracious. 

In the course of the evening tidings of the sudden 


122 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


death of a royal personage, closely enough related to 
our own royal family to entail a court mourning, were 
received and discussed. 

“No drawing-room till June, I fancy,” said an old 
court official. ‘ ‘ Her majesty was greatly attached to 
the Grand Duchess. So the debutantes must grin and 
bear it.” 

“It certainly is a disappointment,” remarked Deen. 

‘ ‘ I was hoping to have that important ceremony over 
next month. I shall hardly feel a free woman till 
it is.” 

“Are you nervous at the idea of being presented.” 

“ No, but I am curious and anxious to see the Queen.” 

‘ ‘ What ! Have you never seen her ?’ ’ 

“ Never.” 

‘ ‘ She is rather a wonderful woman, quite the apotheo- 
sis of common-sense,” returned the courtier. “Well, 
we will have the official announcement of what is, or is 
not, to be done, to-morrow. Going, Mrs. Merivale? 
Well, I am charmed to make your acquaintance. You 
will allow me to have the honour of calling on you. 
Merivale and myself are old friends.” 

“What heaps of friends you have, Horace,” said 
Deen, as they drove homeward. “You are a lucky 
man. ’ ’ 

“In some respects, yes! and I believe I am rather 
popular, but we must remember it has been in my power 
to be useful to many.” 

“And I am sure you are ready to help those who 
need it.” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps it is as a reward for my benevolence that 
heaven has sent me a charming wife. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ How nice of you to pay me compliments still I’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


123 


cried Been, smiling. “ How long does the complimen- 
tary period last ?’ ’ 

“ With me, — as long as they are deserved. I am the 
most constant of men.” 

“ I believe you are,” said Been, thoughtfully. Meri* 
vale did not speak. He would not disturb her reflec- 
tions, for he thought she was reviewing his many per- 
fections and thanking heaven for all its blessings ; 
whereas she was asking herself, or rather the unknown 
past, ‘ ‘ Bid he say these sweet things to my predeces- 
sor? Bid she deserve them? Could she have ever 
anticipated, in his moments of tenderness, that he would 
hate her baby — his own baby. It is too incredible. I 
wish I could forget about it.” 

The next morning’s post brought a letter from Lady 
St. Ives. She, too, was full of the recent royal death. 
As it is almost certain that next month’s drawing-room 
will be postponed, and I am not very well, I do not 
think I shall return to England till spring is more ad- 
vanced,” she wrote. “We will see what arrangements 
are made, and I shall not fail you, my dear Mrs. Meri- 
vale, whenever this tiresome drawing-room is fixed.” 

‘ ‘ Since this affair has fallen through, ’ ’ said Been, 
reflectively. “ I should so much like to go to Larch 
Hill, after our dinner on the twenty- fifth. You know I 
have never seen the place. ’ ’ 

“Well, it might suit me to go down, then. Of 
course, I could not stay all the time. Let me see, the 
twenty-fifth will be Wednesday. We might go on 
Friday afternoon. I could accompany you, my love, 
and come to town on Monday.” 

“Then Cecil would be my guide, philosopher, and 
friend in your absence.” 


124 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ What ! Are you going to take him down?” 

‘ ‘ I think the change would do him good, and I do 
not care to leave him with Mrs. Raikes. I rather think 
she is neither very kind, nor judicious. I think, Horace, 
we ought to get him something more of a nursery gov- 
erness ’ ’ 

“I cannot trouble about him at present. Take him, 
if you choose, but not with us. Send him on by an earlier 
train. Pray let me have some respite from this perpetual 
iteration,” concluded Merivale, impatiently. 

“Very well, I will not tease you ; but one day, dear 
Horace, we must settle about poor Cecil’s education. 
He is very backward.” 

‘ ‘ And always will be backward, ’ ’ said Merivale, con- 
temptuously. ‘ * Do not deceive yourself ; you will never 
make anything of that boy. ’ ’ So saying, he rose from 
the table, and soon after left the house without his 
usual polite adieu to his wife. 

A pleasant drive with Cynthia Hillton helped Deen 
to forget her chill sense of irresponsiveness on her hus- 
band’s part. Cynthia was a bright, healthy, common- 
sensical girl, and exceedingly fond of her attractive kins- 
woman. So together they planned some delightful 
Friday to Monday parties at Larch Hill for next year, 
when Cynthia was to come out. 

Though in no way socially timid, Deen was thankful 
when her first dinner was over. Merivale’ s anxiety, that 
everything should be perfect and all go smoothly, sur- 
prised and troubled her. Why did he worry over such 
trifles ? His servants were well trained and all appliances 
abundant and first rate. 

To her eye all went well ; yet Merivale knew no joy, 
for an “ Epigramme d'agneau d la RussCy'^ was not suffi- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


125 


ciently epigrammatic, and the champagne was a trifle too 
much iced. The guests thought the entertainment de- 
lightful in every sense, especially Mrs. Darrell, who, to 
her great content, was among them. She repaid her 
host as well as she could by applying a thick salve of 
flattery to the sore places of his vanity, and in no way 
making little of the important trifles which moved him 
so deeply. 

It was a beautiful spring evening, when Mr. and Mrs. 
Merivale reached their country quarters near Burford, on 
the S. E. Line. The house was some miles distant from 
this, their nearest station, and was built on the side of an 
abrupt hill. The woods stretched down to a little valley, 
through which chattered and brawled a stream from the 
high ground above, over big stones, round rocks, and 
through long grasses which grew in its bed. 

The avenue followed this stream for some way, and 
then turned left, abruptly, up a steep ascent, which led 
to a stretch of table-land covered with the greenest and 
most velvety grass. At one side of this, surrounded by 
beautifully-kept pleasure grounds, and sheltered by a 
second rise of the hill, stood the house, old-fashioned 
and comfortable, but not specially picturesque. 

‘ ‘ I hope they have made things comfortable, ’ ’ said 
Merivale, after taking a long look at the house, as he 
sank back again in the carriage. ‘ ‘ I have not been 
here for ages ; but Blackburn, my man of business, sends 
down one of his people every quarter, to see that things 
are not going to rack and ruin. The grounds are 
pretty. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ They are lovely !’ ’ cried Deen, with enthusiasm. 
“And the air is delicious !“ 

“It is considered very good. My mother was very 


126 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


delicate, and my father bought this place as a sort of 
sanitarium for her.’" 

These words brought them to the entrance door. It 
stood open, and within Deen recognised one of their 
footmen, a solid elderly woman in black silk, her own 
maid, and several others. 

The entrance hall was wide and low, doors opening 
on every side ; the spaces between filled with stands 
of flowers. Everything seemed fresh, and sweet, and 
unpretentious. While Deen looked admiringly round, 
Cecil came through a door at the back of the hall, 
and, with a joyous cry, sprang into his step-mother’s 
arms. 

‘ ‘ Why were you so long ?’ ’ he cried. ‘ ‘ I thought 
you were never coming. I have been looking for you.” 

‘ ‘ Less noise, if you please !’ ’ said his father. ‘ ‘ These 
displays of love and affection are rather trying. Try 
and moderate your ardour, boy ; and keep these out- 
bursts for greater privacy !’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Go, and shake hands with Papa, Cecil, ’ ’ said Deen, 
flushing suddenly. 

The child hesitated ; then went slowly up to his father, 
like a hound that expected a whipping. 

“There!” said Merivale, touching the child’s hand. 
“ Now be off.” 

Deen, with difficulty, kept back the words which rose 
to her lips ; she t;urned, silently, from her husband, and 
went into a room, the door of which stood open. 

It was a large drawing-room, amply, if not beautifully, 
furnished, and sweet with the perfume of the many 
flowers which adorned it. From a large bay window 
there was a wide view over the lovely country which lay 
below, stretched out in all the variety of woods and pas- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 127 

ture, and brown spaces hereafter to be rich with golden 
grain. 

“What a charming outlook,” said Deen, as soon as 
she felt sure of her voice. 

“ Yes. It is about the finest in Kent. I am fond of 
this view. In fact, it has often tempted me to build on 
this site, for the house is a poor concern. But my asso- 
ciations with the place are decidedly painful, not that I 
want to trouble you, my love, with my by-gone troubles, 
or to speak or hear of them in any way. At all events, 
I shall not go into bricks and mortar just now.” He 
opened a folding-door on the left. “This is known as 
the little drawing-room. The conservatory gives it some 
distinction. Beyond is rather a good music-room ; it 
opens into the conservatory, also. You are looking 
pale, dear. Are you tired ? Have a glass of wine ? You 
do not take wine ! Not a wise habit, I think. Then let 
us have tea.” 

“Yes, tea always revives me,” returned Deen, won- 
dering if her husband perceived that it was his enmity to 
his unoffending son that stabbed her so painfully, and 
drove the colour from her cheeks. Did he wish her to 
understand that the effort to wake a fatherly spirit within 
him was useless and might as well be abandoned ? 

She would not give up all hope yet, however. 

Tea seemed to restore her, her colour came back, and 
she accompanied her husband over the rest of the 
house with interest and appreciation. The only rooms 
omitted were Cecil’s nurseries, but Deen did not notice 
the omission, reflecting that when Merivale went to 
town on Monday she would have a free hand for some 
days. 

Their dinner, if a trifle less elaborate than that meal 


128 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


usually was in Linden Gardens, was excellent, and 
Merivale found no fault. 

“You have asked Mrs. Darrell, have you not, Deen,” 
said Merivale, as the dessert was handed round. 

“Yes, she is coming by the five train.” 

“ Good ! and Sherrard by the six thirty-one. We 
need not live in solitude, though our staff is very 
limited.” 

‘ ‘ Solitude ^ deux would not be very dreadful here, ’ ’ 
said Deen, smiling. “To-morrow we must go for a 
ramble round the place. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Certainly. I think you are a lover of the country. 
Eh?” 

‘ ‘ I enjoy it immensely in the summer. I should not 
like to live all the year ‘ out of town. ’ ’ ’ 

“ Exactly ! That is what I feel. That extraordinary 
sympathy with Nature which some people are so proud 
of, argues a substratum of sauvagerie^ which puts the arts 
and sciences hors concours. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ There is something noble in it, nevertheless. ’ ’ 

“ It is all very well for poets, and shall I say prosers? 
But I confess I love cultivation. Will you come and 
try the old piano in the music-room. I ordered it to be 
tuned.” 


CHAPTER IX 


Deen stole for a brief visit to her boy’s bedside to 
kiss him, even though he should not be aware of her 
presence. He was, however ; but he only partially awoke. 

‘ ‘ Shall I go out to walk with you, mother dear, to- 
morrow ?’ ’ 

“ No, Cecil, I cannot manage that. You must be very 
good, and not worry to see me till Monday, then we will 
be very happy, for I shall have you all day, and you 
shall show me all about the place. So be a very good 
boy and do not ask to come down till I send for you. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Darrell prepared herself for her visit to Larch 
Hill with considerable self-gratulation. 

She had thought, when Merivale’s rather sudden and 
very unexpected marriage had blasted her hopes of cap- 
turing that fastidious gentleman, that her intention of 
making use of him was at an end for evermore. Now 
dim visions of manipulating his wife dawned upon her. 
The fortunate winner of the matrimonial prize was a well 
meaning sentimentalist, and if she, Laura Darrell, was 
destined to throw dust successfully in her eyes, why, so 
be it. She had had a private note from Sherrard, de- 
siring her to miss the five o’ clock train and go down with 
him by the next one, which suited her a good deal 
better. 

“I suppose he has some hints to give me,” she 
thought. ‘ ‘ He might as well have come round to see 
me and give me my instructions. It is a week and 

9 >29 


130 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


more since he has been here. He is awfully selfish ; but, 
like myself, he has a desperate struggle for existence. 
If that poor weakling of a boy would only give up the 
battle of life, one would see what Grafton is made of. I 
wonder what he really thinks of Mrs. Merivale ? She has 
got a certain hold of him, whether it is liking or dis- 
liking I am not sure. What power money gives ! It is 
the true magician’s wand. If I had money he would be 
at my feet, and I should make a fool of myself.” 

The friends, though neither was disposed to platonics, 
met at Victoria, and enjoyed much confidential commu- 
nication on their journey southeast-ward. 

‘ ‘ I didn’ t expect you would have made such a hit 
with Merivale’ s wife,” said Sherrard, lowering the win- 
dow next him a couple of inches, and fastening the 
strap. 

‘ ‘ Pray, why not ?’ ’ asked Mrs. Darrell, a little de- 
fiantly. 

“I didn’t think it likely you’d pull together. You 
are rather opposite poles.” 

“ I am certainly no saint ; but, between you and me, I 
don’ t think she is, either !’ ’ 

‘ ‘ How do you make that out, Laura ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ She is too pleasant, too liberal for a saint. Merivale 
is twice as proper and stuck-up as she is. Why, there is 
a profound correctness even about his improprieties. ’ ’ 

Sherrard laughed as if much amused. 

‘ ‘ Still I should like to know the secret of your swift 
success with the charming Una. I cannot say you are 
generally a favourite with women, my dear little Laura. ’ ’ 

” I should think I am not !” contemptuously. 

“Don’t despise the championship of your own sex. 
They are rather potent factors in life, especially nowa- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


131 

days, so stick to Mrs. Merivale. But mind you keep in 
with the Padrone also.” 

‘ ‘ They twain are quite one at present. ’ ’ 

“That won’t last,” returned Sherrard, with a grin. 
‘ ‘ I see the first thread-like beginning of the split. 
Don’ t you ?’ ’ 

“Perhaps! The fuss Mrs. Merivale makes about 
that boy worries the father. She is really rather a fool. ’ ’ 
“The hatred Merivale has to that unfortunate brat is 
extraordinary. I could understand his being absolutely 
indifferent, but active dislike is incomprehensible.” 
“Well, yes — rather,” carelessly. 

‘ ‘ I fancy Merivale fancied the boy was rather an idiot, 
and hoped he would prove so. You see, he would then 
have been able to shut him up out of sight, and the cost 
of providing him with every care and comfort would 
have been nothing to him. I know he always spoke of 
his first wife as an imbecile, and I know that for some 
years before her death he did not live with her really ; 
anyhow, he still clings to the hope of shutting up the 
boy. If his new wife defeats this object, why she’ll find 
our elegant friend, the man of taste and feeling, a 
deuced hard nut to crack. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Except in her craze about this boy, I should say 
she was no fool. ’ ’ 

“I cannot quite make her out,” said Sherrard, 

thoughtfully. ‘ ‘ She is d d soft and sweet, but 

somehow I fancy she has a stiffish backbone. Look 
here, my dear little woman, if a split comes, or threatens, 
mind you run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. 
I’ll stand by Merivale openly, and together we may carry 
out our own ends. Merivale is a shrewd fellow, but his 
extraordinary regard for the opinions of the world makes 


132 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


him an easy instrument to play upon. It amuses me, 
too ! Really, if my nephew Gerald were not so perse- 
vering in his determination to live on, and delivered me 
from the difficulties of existence, I should feel rather 
dull. I should miss the excitement of my present con- 
dition. ’ ’ 

“lam sure I should not. The eternal effort to make 
a sovereign go as far as thirty shillings is distinctly de- 
moralising. I wonder what sort jyou would turn out, if 
you were suddenly rich and free ?’ ’ 

“Oh, God knows,” exclaimed Sherrard, shooting a 
keen glance at his companion from under his heavy 
brows. “ Neither better nor worse than my neighbours, 
I suppose.” 

“No one can accuse you of hypocrisy,” said Mrs. 
Darrell, laughing. 

“ No ! Hypocrisy is a dangerous game. The safest 
game is to be frankly bad. By the bye, have you seen 
young Pierpont lately ?’ ’ 

“ He has called twice since I met him at your rooms.” 

‘ ‘ Um ! That’ s not bad for a sly youngster of his sort. ’ ’ 

“ How old is he, Graf. ?” 

“ Let me see, — not quite twenty-two, but near it.” 

“And are you sz^re he is old St. George Darrell’s 
next heir ?’ ’ 

“Yes, certain sure. The entail has never been 
broken. Pierpont is not badly off now. It would be 
a grand stroke if you married him and came in for the 
Darrell estates in spite of the crass indifference or en- 
mity of your brother-in-law. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ It would be a triumph, and I would enjoy it — but — 
but — Graf. , should you ?’ ’ 

“Yes, of course, I should rejoice at your success.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


133 


She looked piercingly at him, flushing to the roots of 
her hair, and then growing white. 

‘ ‘ I cannot be grateful enough for your disinterested 
kindness. Time will show what I may or may not do.” 

“ Oh, you will sail into port on the crest of the waves 
and rule benignly ever after. ’ ’ 

A short silence ensued, then Sherrard began on some 
remote topic, and they talked inoffensive, outside talk 
till near their destination. 

‘ ‘ There is the Merivale equipage, and Madam herself 
in all her glory, I am glad to say. Her coming in per- 
son to meet you is a compliment.” 

“For you, Graf. ?” 

“ Oh, no. There is no chance of such condescension. 
I am no favourite at present. ’ ’ 

“ But you do not despair of the future. Eh ?” 

” The future ? Ah, who can tell !” 

Here the train stopped, and Sherrard helped his com- 
panion to alight. 

Then there were greetings, and explanation of the 
accidental delay which made Mrs. Darrell lose her train 
and thus brought about her unexpected meeting with 
Mr. Sherrard. 

When they reached the house, Merivale had extri- 
cated himself from the claims of his steward, his head- 
gardener, and many others, all anxious to make the 
most of this unusual visit from ‘ ‘ the master. ’ ’ 

“It is a sweet place,” exclaimed Mrs. Darrell. “I 
have often heard Mr. Sherrard speak of it, but I never 
thought it was so truly rural. You might be hundreds 
of miles from town.” 

“You have some shooting, haven’t you, Merivale?” 
asked Sherrard. 


134 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ Well, yes ; but not much. The places are too close 
together, and this grows worse.” 

“ It is so long since I was down here, I have only a 
vague recollection of some very pleasant days spent 
with you some years ago. I hope, Mrs. Merivale, you 
will persuade your husband to open this nice old place 
occasionally. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I shall only be too glad if you and some of our friends 
will favour us with their company. By the way, young 
Pierpont and Major Everard will be down in time for 
dinner. You are all very good to take us in the rough.” 

‘ ‘ My dear fellow, we have full faith in the resources 
of your establishment, ’ ’ said Sherrard. ‘ ‘ Come, Mrs. 
Merivale, will you not take me round the grounds this 
beautiful day while the twilight lasts ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I should, with pleasure, only I do not know my 
way myself. Come, Horace, you must personally con- 
duct us. ’ ’ 

A ramble round the grounds and through the adjoining 
wood ensued, and then it was time to dress for dinner. 

Pierpont and Everard, who had arrived when they 
returned to the house, were typical men of their kind. 

The first, a good-humoured, easy-going, unobjection- 
able young fellow, the echo of those with whom he as- 
sociated. Major Everard was considered one of the 
best judges of a horse in England. In short, his 
knowledge and experience enabled him to add largely 
to a rather slender income. His recommendation was 
eagerly sought by horse-dealers, and yet he was an hon- 
est man, buying and selling in a straightforward way. 

As anticipated by Sherrard, the dinner, wine, et 
cetera^ were as good as ever. There was a little less 
of elegance on the decorative side of the entertainment ; 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


135 


however, all went well and merrily. Afterwards bil- 
liards made time go swiftly. 

Yet Deen felt strangely depressed. There was to her 
a curious tone of hardness in the conversation (if it could 
be so called) of her husband’s friends. The object of 
life seemed to be success : nothing else was worth a 
thought. 

In whatever line was adopted, success ; at whatever 
expense of suffering and loss to others, success anyhow ; 
and for failure there was only contempt. 

Deen was no sentimentalist, but that evening her heart 
was full of a strange, aching remembrance of her quiet, 
peaceful life with her father, varied, as it had been, by 
society of a pleasant and cultivated kind, for the ac- 
complished Englishman was exceedingly popular with 
men and women of nearly all nationalities. Moreover, 
Deen was sufficiently shrewd to detect the veiled adula- 
tion which one and all offered to Merivale. It alarmed 
her, for him and for herself. 

“ His life has been one dead-level of prosperity,” she 
thought. ‘ ‘ He will be inclined to believe his own judg- 
ment infallible : then I am all right at present. I am ‘ a 
success.’ But if accident or illness disfigured or dulled 
me, how would it be w'ith his affection ? Could it stand 
the fatal strain of failure ? I am a wretch to think like 
this ! Because he differs from me about his boy, am I 
to disregard all his generous kindness to myself ? There 
must be some bitter story behind his dislike to Cecil. 
Even so, it is base to punish a child for what it cannot be 
responsible. ’ ’ 

Deen did not play billiards, so had time to think. But 
she was too full of tact to let her thoughts master her ; 
she roused herself to talk with Pierpont, whom she liked 


136 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


best of the party, while she noticed the caressing softness 
of Mrs. Darrell’s manner to Merivale contrasted with the 
sharp, incisive brilliancy of her dialogue with the rest. 
Could this woman have loved her children or any one 
else as passionately as she described ? 

She played a very good game, and Deen watched her 
with outspoken admiration. 

“I must give you lessons,” said Merivale. “Hike 
to see a woman play billiards well. Mrs. Darrell could 
give points to many men. ’ ’ 

“It is our great resource in India,” she returned. 
‘ ‘ Come, Major Everard, you have looked on enough ; 
you must play as well as take notes. ’ ’ 

Deen was glad when the evening was over. Merivale, 
however, seemed in a very tranquil and contented frame 
of mind, and his wife listened sympathetically to his 
ideas respecting possible enlargements and improve- 
ments in their country house, genuinely pleased to see 
him happy. 

Sunday was fine, fortunately, and was fully occupied. 
Major Everard and his host strolled round some pad- 
docks which the former thought might be most profita- 
bly used for horse-breeding purposes. The rest walked 
or drove. Mrs. Darrell undertook the care of Pierpont, 
while Deen, to her discomfiture, found herself bound to 
take a long walk with Sherrard. 

‘ ‘ Will you not be a good Samaritan, and keep Mrs. 
Merivale company at least till to-morrow ?’ ’ said the host, 
as they prepared to disperse after breakfast. 

“ It would give me the greatest pleasure ; but, unfor- 
tunately, I am engaged to luncheon with Lady Janet, 
and I know she depends on me. I must, therefore, do 
my duty. May I come again, dear Mrs. Merivale?” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


137 


“You will be very welcome,” said Deen, graciously, 
but she did not attempt to fix a date. 

Major Everard and Sherrard accompanied their host ; 
Pierpont waited to escort Mrs. Darrell to town after 
luncheon. 

There was a misty, drizzling rain, and out-of-doors was 
not inviting, so Deen and her guest were reduced to in- 
specting the house. 

‘ ‘ There is more room than I expected, ’ ’ said Mrs. 
Darrell, pausing in a large window, which lighted the 
corridor on which the bedrooms opened. ‘ ‘ Still, it is a 
very modest dwelling compared to your town house. 
The situation is charming. However, I suppose Mr. 
Merivale will build here. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Perhaps ; not that I wish him to do so. I infinitely 
prefer a house like this to ‘ a mansion’ such as our house 
in town. I feel as if I were too small for my shell when 
I am there. My very guests belong more to the house- 
keeper and the butler than to me. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Darrell laughed. “You are not worldly nor 
ambitious, I fancy. How dull life would be without the 
world or ambition !’ ’ 

‘ ‘ There is plenty to live for besides. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ There are other rooms above these, are there not ?’ ’ 
asked Mrs. Darrell, after a short pause. 

“ Yes ; in the older part of the house. Would you 
like to come up? My little step-son’s quarters are 
there. ’ ’ 

“ I should like to see them.” 

Mrs. Merivale led her guest up a very solid oaken 
staircase to the wide landing leading where the nursery 
cupboards were, and then into the large day- nursery, 
which had a big bay with window-seats. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


138 

On one of these, his legs doubled up under him, sat 
the little boy, his elbows resting on the window-sill, 
gazing wistfully through the open window. He was 
quite alone, and the whole look of the little figure con- 
veyed an idea of desolation. He did not hear the door 
open, nor did he stir till Been said, softly, ‘ ‘ Cecil. ’ ’ 
He was on his feet in a moment, his pale face and 
pathetic eyes all aglow with delight. 

“Oh, mother ! I thought you would never come,” he 
cried, rushing into her arms. 

“ He is really fond of you,” said Mrs. Darrell, much 
struck with this little scene. 

‘ ‘ Poor little fellow ! I think he is. Do you remember 
this lady, Cecil? She came in to lunch with us one 
day.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

He went up smiling to her, offering a kiss. 

“He is really a nice little fellow,” said Mrs. Darrell, 
kissing him, for, though a cold-hearted woman, she had 
surface impulses of liking for whatever was graceful and 
caressing. 

‘ ‘ He is looking very well now, ’ ’ remarked Deen, 
looking at him with interest. ‘ ‘ I believed town agreed 
with him, strange as that sounds.” 

‘ ‘ I fancy being with you agreed with him, ’ ’ added 
Mrs. Darrell. 

Here Nurse made her appearance. “ I was obliged to 
go all the way downstairs,” she said, in a deprecatory 
tone. “ But you see, ’m, we are not in our usual order, 
and there is no one to wait on the nursery.” 

“ Oh, yes, I understand. Nurse ; but you are growing 
too big a boy for a nursery, Cecil ; eh? We must be 
thinking of school,” and she stroked the golden head 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


139 


that leaned against her. “Would it bore you, Mrs. 
Darrell, if I took him in the carriage with us to the 
station ?’ ’ 

“ No, by no means. Why should it?” 

“Thank you. You see, he has been very much alone 
since we came here. ’ ’ 

Here the hoarse bark of the mastiff, chained in the 
yard below, made itself heard. 

Cecil started. “There, there, do you hear?” he said, 
half aloud. “ That' s the dog that killed my kitty !” 

“Do not think of it, dear. You shall have a nice 
drive with me to-day,” said Deen. Then, with her 
guest, she left the room. 

Mrs. Raikes stood looking sternly, with an expression 
of hatred, at the child. 

“ So' you’ve been, and gone, and told, have you?” 

She did not dare to say or do more. Cecil grew red, 
and the old, frightened, hunted look came back to his 
face. 

Mrs. Raikes turned and walked into her own room. 
“Times is changed for me. I’m thinking. The place 
is not worth staying in,” she muttered, as she put on 
an apron previous to laying the table for her own and 
Cecil’s dinner. 

The afternoon cleared up, and, forgetful of his fears 
and sorrows, Cecil took his seat beside Pierpont in the 
carriage, radiant with the present and prospective joys 
of companionship with his step-mother. 

Then he had the excitement of seeing the train come 
in and go off, Mrs. Darrell smiling and kissing her 
hand to him from the window of her carriage. 


CHAPTER X. 


Mrs. Merivale was half surprised, half shocked to 
find how much she enjoyed the repose of her temporary 
solitude in the country. The pleasure it was to her 
to ramble about the grounds and through the woods 
with her little step-son. To see the new brightness in his 
formerly sad, little face was, she felt, a real joy. 

Deen, though a plucky woman, had a dread of saying 
or doing anything hard or unkind to any one, even 
those she did not like ; but it was her duty to know 
all about the child she had effectually adopted, and so, 
one morning, having seen Cecil go off gaily to the shrub- 
bery, with a little basket and hoe, to help the old man 
whose work it was to weed the walks, she ascended to 
the nursery and said to Mrs. Raikes, “Now that I am 
alone. Nurse, I shall take the opportunity of looking 
through Master Cecil’s clothes with you. Some of his 
things seem rather old-fashioned.” She could not say 
why, but Deen felt this to be a most offensive move on 
her part, in the estimation of Mrs. Raikes. 

“Of course, ’m, if you choose to give yourself that 
trouble? My places are always fit to be seen.” 

“ No doubt ! Mr. Merivale considers you a model of 
method. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Raikes made no reply, but led the way into 
the little room where the boy slept. 

“Would you like the window shut in? It is chilly 
this morning.” 

140 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


141 

“ No, thank you. I like the freshness.” 

” I keep Master Cecil’s under-things in this chest of 
drawers,” beginning to open one of them. So the in- 
spection commenced, and to Mrs. Raikes’s disgust she 
soon found it was to be very thorough. Little was said, 
but after Deen had asked a few questions and seen the 
comparatively scanty contents of the drawers and a cup- 
board where the child’s suits of clothes hung, she grew 
very grave, and said, quietly, — 

” Master Cecil’s wardrobe is but ill supplied. How 
have you managed ? I suppose you ordered what was 
necessary, and the accounts went in to Mr. Merivale?” 

” No, ma’m. Mr. Merivale gave me a sum quarterly, 
as he didn’t wish to be troubled with any particulars, 
and I never had any more since he was a baby. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ And when he outgrew his things ?’ ’ 

“You may guess, ’m, there’s many poor, respectable 
mothers as would be glad to have his left-offs. Then 
his ways is that dirty. ’ ’ 

“Still, Mrs. Raikes, I think he might be better sup- 
plied. He really has not much more than a change of 
raiment. In future I shall see to his clothing myself. I 
have but little to do, and the occupation will interest 
me. 

‘ ‘ Certingly, ’ m ! I have done my best, with a due 
regard to economy, for you know, though generous, Mr. 
Merivale does not like waste ; but faithful service is rarely 
valued, and, I suppose, ’m, you’ll tell the Master how I 
have neglected my duties.” 

‘ ‘ I shall say I am dissatisfied with the condition of 
the boy’s wardrobe. This may, however, be more want 
of management than any wilful neglect of duty, and can 
be remedied.” 


142 THE STEP-MOTHER 

So saying Mrs. Merivale went to put on her hat and 
look for Cecil. 

Nurse shut the doors of the wardrobe with a bang, an 
evil look contracting her brow. The quiet assertion of 
right on the part of her new mistress convinced her that 
her day was done. “She shan’t lord it over me any 
way,” was her muttered commentary ; “ and if ever the 
poor, dear Master wants to put away that boy (drat 
him !) for an imbecile, I’ll swear through thick and 
thin that he is a born idiot, with all the dirty, nasty ways 
of one !’’ 

The succeeding days went by in a pleasant monotony. 
Mrs. Merivale, whose dislike to leaving Cecil alone with 
Mrs. Raikes grew stronger every day, inquired diligently 
for a young girl, who might be a suitable companion for 
him when Merivale’ s return would force her to absent 
herself from the boy. She was fortunate in finding what 
she wanted in one of the steward’s children, a girl of 
fourteen, who was enchanted to be taken temporarily to 
live in the ‘ ‘grand house.’’ 

There was a little uneasiness mixed with the pleasure 
Deen felt in the prospect of her husband’s return. He 
could be a very agreeable companion sometimes ; and if 
it occasionally seemed that there were very few things in 
which he took a real interest, though he could talk well 
on most subjects, she told herself that she did not thor- 
oughly understand him, and so continued the unprofit- 
able task of trying to sink a deep-sea line in a mill- 
pond. 

The morning after Merivale’ s return, when he was 
alone in the dining-room, Mrs. Raikes made her ap- 
pearance with the ominous words, “ May I speak to you, 
sir.’’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


143 


“Yes, certainly.” Merivale was in high good- 
humour. 

He enjoyed his return home, and the tender welcome 
which awaited him. His wife had looked all his wife 
ought, and really did credit to his taste and judgment. 
Moreover, his objectionable little son was nowhere to be 
seen. 

“ Well, what is it? Nothing wrong, I hope?” 

“Only for myself, sir. I am sorry to say that after 
all these years I must leave you this day month, 
sir. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Why, what has induced you to take this step ? I 
have never been dissatisfied with you in any way. I am 
sure you have had a difficult and unpleasant task ?’ ^ 

“Yes, sir. I am thankful to have your approbation, 
but I am sorry Mrs. Merivale is not of the same way of 
thinking. I know what a nice lady she is, but, you see, 
she has just taken a fad for Master Cecil, and being 
alone here she amused herself looking through his 
clothes. Bless you, sir, they was all wrong, and she 
said she’d see to his wardrobe herself. Of course, she 
has every right to do so, and I didn’ t say what work I 
had and waste there was in keeping the poor little fellow 
clean. What with his dirty, silly habits and queer 
temper, — though I was fond of him, in spite of it all. It 
would have shocked a lady like her, sir, but ” 

“Yes, yes, I know. It is all too horrid. But can 
you not arrange to stay, Mrs. Raikes ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Well, no, sir. There are things that would make a 
worm turn, and after being trusted and respected for 
years and years, I feel I can stay no longer ; you’ll ex- 
cuse me, sir, I don’t wish to complain, but Mrs. Meri- 
vale misunderstands me. She is taken up with your 


144 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


son, sir, now. Wait till she has one of her own, a fine, 
healthy boy, the image of yourself, sir, she’ll see the 
difference, though she fancies Master Cecil like you. 
It’s more than /can see ” 

“ It’s all an infernal nuisance,” interrupted Merivale, 
impatiently. “ I am greatly annoyed that you cannot 
get on with Mrs. Merivale, and that she has such 
crotchets. However, if you keep faith with me, you 
understand, I will undertake to give you an allowance 
which shall insure your comfort while you live. There, 
say no more about it.” 

Mrs. Raikes discreetly left the room, highly satisfied 
with the result of the interview, but not a whit less bitter 
against Deen for presuming to find her out. 

Deen saw that her husband was less serene and sun- 
shiny at luncheon than he had been at breakfast, and 
the grievance soon came out. 

“ I do not think you have much to regret in Mrs. 
Raikes, Horace,” said his wife, “considering the sum 
you allowed for Cecil’s dress, the condition of his ward- 
robe is shameful. I am sorry to annoy you by saying 
it, but she could hardly have been honest, while she 
did not give the child kindly care or judicious treatment. 
She was really making him silly.” 

“ She did not make the wretched creature silly. It 
was a higher power.” 

“Do not allow that idea to master you, Horace. The 
poor child is as sane as you are, though he may be far in- 
ferior to you in intellect ; but he is no idiot. Do leave him 
to me, dear. I will not force him on you. I will find 
some good school where he will be brought up healthily 
with other boys, where / cannot spoil him, nor you 
frighten him.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


145 


“And where he will disgrace me by earning the title 
of ‘the liar’.” 

‘ ‘ Let me keep him at home a while, and, with the help 
of a good superior governess, I will wean him from this 
tendency, and strengthen him by kindly, judicious treat- 
ment. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Do what you like, only save my name. ’ ’ 

“ Believe me, dear, with affection and care Cecil will 
grow up a son of whom no father need be ashamed. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I anticipate nothing good in that quarter, ’ ’ returned 
Merivale, gloomily. 

“Tell me,” said Deen, with natural curiosity, “are 
his grandfather and grandmother still alive ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ His grandmother is ; she has indifferent health and 
lives entirely on the Continent. We do not get on very 
well together. Talking of relatives, I have a letter from 
my sister, Mrs. Jeffries. The General has been very ill 
again. He talks of coming home for good and all. I 
wonder what he will do? An unoccupied old soldier 
is generally a horrid nuisance, and, of course, he hasn’t 
too much money. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That does not matter much, as they have no children, 
and small means do well enough when one hasn’ t a taste 
for luxury. ’ ’ 

“You hardly value money enough, Deen. Come, let 
us have the concord of sweet sounds. I haven’t heard 
a note of music since I left you. Good heavens ! 
what a trial life is, do what one will. I wish you were a 
horsewoman, Deen.” 

‘ ‘ I wish I were. But, alas ! I have never mounted 
anything except a donkey or a mule. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ And unless a woman is very perfect in style, dress, 
and general turnout, she should never attempt to ride. ’ * 
10 


146 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


‘ ‘ I sometimes wonder what my fate would have been, 
Horace, had I not seemed fair in your eyes. Had I 
been ugly, or not vfhdityou thought graceful, you would 
never have spoken to me, and yet I might have been 
quite as good a woman as I am, nay, much better.” 

“Yes, of course. But you would not have been 
Geraldine Vesey. Your looks are part of yourself. 
And had I been a crookback, with unlovely features 
and rough gestures, you would not have listened to my 
suit.” 

‘ ‘ I am not so sure, Horace. So long as you sang and 
talked and were as generous as you are, I could have 
loved you heartily. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I am glad you were not put to the test, my love, * ’ 
said Merivale, smiling, well-pleased as he took and 
fondled his wife’s fair hand. “ I confess I have anal- 
most morbid horror of ugliness. Well, to-morrow I 
expect a couple of ponies to be sent down here on ap- 
probation. It is easier to learn how to drive than to 
ride, and I shall give you some lessons. If you are a 
promising pupil, you shall have the ponies. I shall 
soon see if you have the hands. To excel in music, 
poetry, art, cooking, or the handling of horses, you 
must be born with the gift. ’ ’ 

“I will do my best,” said Deen, “but fear the gift 
has not been bestowed on me. ’ ’ 

The succeeding days were fully occupied by this new 
whim of Merivale’ s ; but either his patience ran short or 
Deen was really unpromising, for her husband decided 
that it was useless to keep the ponies, and though he 
looked somewhat gloomy at the disappointment, he 
issued his orders accordingly. 

“Would it not be well to have a Shetland pony for 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


147 


Cecil ?’ * asked Mrs. Merivale, when her husband joined 
her in the garden after speaking to the groom. 

“For Cecil?” echoed Merivale, looking astonished. 
“ It would be an utterly useless outlay and trouble.” . 

“ But, Horace, I have always heard that, to be a good 
horseman, a boy should begin to ride almost in his 
infancy.” 

‘ ‘ Good heavens ! Do you think that boy will ever 
do anything like other boys ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I do, indeed ; and as years go on he must take his 
place as your son. You really ought to give him the 
advantages which will fit him for the position he will 
hold.” 

“lam very sorry to say what is uncivil, but you are 
talking nonsense, Deen, — a thing you rarely do. For the 
present I will let you deal with the child, so pray let me 
hear no more about him. ’ ’ 

“Very well, Horace ! but the time will come when I 
must speak. You would not surely wish your boy to be 
an imbecile ?’ ’ 

Merivale uttered an inarticulate sound which, neverthe- 
less, conveyed an idea of intense impatience ; but Deen 
kept silence, even from good words, so no more passed 
on the vexed question. 

The following week they were to return to town, and, 
to Deen’s satisfaction, Mrs. Raikes requested permission 
to leave before the expiration of her month of warning. 

“You see, ’m, I have a sister, a single woman, who 
has saved a bit of money, and we think of furnishing a 
little place between us somewhere by the seaside, where 
we could let apartments, and the sooner we start the 
better. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Merivale gave a ready assent and Mr. Merivale 


148 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


a substantial cheque towards the furnishing, so their 
visit to the country ended as Deen hardly hoped it would. 

The last week’s end was diversified by a visit from Sir 
Thomas, Lady and Miss Hillton, also Mrs. Darrell, 
Pierpont, and Sherrard. The weather was fine and 
every one seemed pleased. 

Sherrard mixed with several counteracting guests, and 
taken in small doses was less objectionable, Deen thought, 
than on the occasion of his former visit, and she was 
very happy to receive the Hilltons. 

As an experienced matron. Lady Hillton gave much 
sage advice as to the hygienic treatment of Cecil. The 
boy had evidently not been managed properly, and was 
backward, but to fancy him of weak intellect was quite 
too absurd. 

On returning to town Mrs. Merivale’s first step was 
to secure, as governess to Cecil, a nice, bright, well- 
mannered girl, found for her by the friend she had in- 
tended joining before Merivale opened the portals of a 
more brilliant life to her. 

The remoulding of the child’s existence was infinitely 
interesting. Deen went most minutely into every detail 
that could affect the boy in counsel with Miss Thorpe. 
Light lessons, plenty of air and exercise, games which called 
for a little thought, and frequent visits from other chil- 
dren when they knew any, was the course suggested by the 
new governess, and Mrs. Merivale hastened to inaugurate 
it, as she foresaw that during the rest of the season she 
would have little time to herself. Invitations poured in, 
engagements thickened till she became fairly dizzy. 
Then came her presentation, and she was really launched 
into the whirlpool of London society. 

Still she snatched moments every day to see her step- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


149 


son, to hear Miss Thorpe’s report of him, and still it 
was always difficult to escape from his clinging arms. 
His love for her was deep and strong : she was his pro- 
tecting angel ; but she saw with a sense of relief that he 
was also attaching himself to his new friend, and changing 
rapidly from the still subdued, pathetic little mouse, too 
habitually frightened to enjoy anything, to a natural, 
noisy boy, ready to laugh and shout and sing. His gov- 
erness was a fairly good musician, and Cecil was quite 
ready to undergo a short music lesson every day. 

“ Surely,” thought Deen, as she listened to his sweet, 
shrill, little voice, ‘ ‘ if he sings like his father, or prom- 
ises to sing like him, Mr. Merivale’s prejudices will melt 
away. ’ ’ 

Meantime every day added to the popularity of the 
Meri vales, husband and wife. 

Their dinners became famous, both for the cuisine and 
the company. Their musical parties were admirable in 
their arrangement and quality. But Deen felt that she 
had literally no time to enjoy anything. 

Accustomed all the previous years of her life to exer- 
cise the utmost care and caution in dispensing her father’s 
small income, it terrified her to think of the sums Meri- 
vale must expend on his costly establishment. 

Her real indifference to grandeur and freedom from 
ambition gave an indescribable ease and refinement to 
her manners, which made her a real, great lady, au bout 
des doigts. The greatest of the great felt that she was 
an equal, the humblest were in no way oppressed by her 
superiority, and Merivale was content, so content that 
he ceased to trouble about her ; she was always sure to 
do the right thing, so he need not feel any uneasiness, 
only the unimportance of small distinctions, such as he 


150 THE STEP-MOTHER 

coveted, in her eyes, sometimes ‘ ‘ riled’ ’ him some- 
what. 

Life was, indeed, full and brilliant ; yet, it was not 
flawless. Though unusually free from the morbid sensi- 
tiveness that seeks for, and quarrels with, crumpled rose- 
leaves, Deen was growing weary of the busy idleness of 
her life, of the curious heart hunger that troubled her 
more and more. She had no friends, no intimates. 
Numbers of pleasant, charming women attracted her ; 
but the rush of the season left no time to cultivate any- 
thing but dress and gossip. But this distracting time 
would soon be over ; then they would go to the country, 
she hoped, and have a little of each other’s society, for 
now they hardly ever had a minute together in private. 

The other slight rift within the lute was the ever- 
increasing intimacy between her husband and Sherrard. 
Perhaps the only individual she did not like, or, rather, 
that she disliked, was this habitu^ of the house. To 
herself, he was quietly attentive, almost deferential ; a 
very unusual attitude in Sherrard, who was by nature 
domineering and disposed to estimate all those with 
whom he associated at a very low rate. Deen felt that 
he tried to make friends with her, and rather reproached 
herself for the species of repulsion he excited. 

“I am despatched by Merivale to tell you,” said 
Sherrard, coming into the drawing-room one beautiful 
eve in May, ‘ ‘ that he cannot keep his appointment to 
drive you down to Richmond, so deputes my unworthy 
self to be your charioteer. ’ ’ 

“Something very important must have happened,” 
exclaimed Deen, “or he would not have broken his 
engagement.” 

“ Well, yes. The head of a great Paris firm has come 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


151 

to interview him, and, no doubt, the fate of ‘ men and 
empires’ hangs on their counsels.” 

‘ ‘ That sounds very tremendous, ’ ’ said Deen ; ‘ ‘ but 
it will not comfort Mr. Pierpont for the disarrangement 
of his party.” 

“Oh, Merivale has wired to him already, so he can 
fill up the gap. The awful catastrophe would be your 
absence !” 

“Well, I am not going to inflict that on my host or 
myself. Is it time to start ?’ ’ 

“Well, yes. I shall take you across Barnes Common 
and by Coomb Warren ; it’s a pleasant drive.” 

‘ ‘ How is Mrs. Darrell going ? I thought she was 
coming with us. ’ ’ 

A grim smile flashed over Sherrard’s rugged face. 

“ No ; she is going down with Lady Hillton and her 
daughter. You have been rather a godsend to the little 
widow, Mrs. Merivale. Your ‘ backing’ has launched 
her in your set. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ She has had hard lines hitherto. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Merivale rang and ordered the phaeton to be 
brought round, while she went to put on her bonnet. 

“ It’s a little difficult to deal with a woman who has no 
nonsense about her, ’ ’ thought Sherrard. ‘ ‘ She has no 
idea of being offended with Merivale, as so many wives 
would ; and she makes no difficulty about driving with me, 
though she would rather not, by a good deal. I wish I 
could win her to a little confidence, the least little bit of a 
secret between us ; would open the door to — to an earthly 
paradise. She is not like the ordinary woman ; and that 
vain ass, Merivale, is getting so used to her exceptional 
charm that he begins to lose sight of his own extraor- 
dinary good fortune. Yet, I hate her sometimes.” 


152 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“Ah,” interrupting himself, “what a divine bonnet ! 
Am I too presumptuous in daring to see it ?’ * 

“No, not at all,” laughing. “Praise is always ac- 
ceptable. I am exceedingly weak on that score. ’ ’ 

As they descended the stair, they were overtaken by 
Cecil, who flew, rather than ran, down to snatch a kiss 
before his mother escaped him. ‘ ‘ Go, dear, and shake 
hands with Mr. Sherrard. ’ ’ 

The boy hesitated a moment, gazing doubtfully at the 
strong, sneering face looking down upon him. Then he 
went up frankly and offered his hand. 

“Why, how he has grown !” exclaimed Sherrard, in 
surprise. “He used to be a mere thread papery little 
chap, and ready to run like a ‘ hunted hare’ if you looked 
at him.” 

‘ ‘ May I not come with you, mother ?’ ’ 

“No, dear ! Miss Thorpe is to have the little victoria, 
and you can drive where you like.” 

‘ ‘ I wish I might come with you. Good-by, mother. ’ ’ 
“What system have you pursued with that infant, 
Mrs. Merivale?” asked Sherrard, gathering up the reins, 
when he had assisted her into the perfectly appointed 
high phaeton, which was Merivale’ s favourite mode of 
conveyance. 

“A severe course of spoiling,” said Deen, smiling. 
“In which I am sure your husband does not encourage 
you ! I don’ t fancy he is an amiable papa. ’ ’ 

“ Indeed !” coldly. 

‘ ‘ Oh ! is Merivale too sacred a subject to be lightly 
spoken of?” 

“ Yes ! to me, at all events. We have plenty of other 
* mutual acquaintances’ we can pull to pieces. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ All right, Mrs. Merivale ; now that you have had 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


153 


some experience with the son and heir, are you dis- 
posed to endorse Merivale’s opinion that the boy is only 
half-witted. ’ ’ 

“No, certainly not. I do not worry Mr. Merivale 
about it. It must be such a painful topic for a parent, 
but after some months of my treatment I hope to intro- 
duce quite a different child to his notice. ’ ’ 

Sherrard’s only reply was a sardonic grin, and no 
more was said apropos of her step-son. The drive, how- 
ever, was an experience both to Deen and her charioteer. 
To him she was quite a new specimen ; as was natural 
to a man of his temperament and character, he had a 
profound contempt for women, though their presence 
often gave him pleasure. He was adamant to their flat- 
teries. If anything, he despised a good woman more 
than a bad one, believing the former to be a trifle falser 
than the last. 

This long expedition gave him an oppor- 

tunity of conversing at his ease with his friend’s wife, 
whom he so much admired and disliked ; he tried in his 
own abrupt, crooked fashion to test her intelligence and 
observation. 

He was himself shrewd and fairly well educated, and 
it always amused him to argue with a woman who had 
some gleams of reason, which seemed to give her but an 
ignis fatuus light, assuring her downfall before the su- 
perior and more disciplined forces of masculine intelli- 
gence. 

After some discussion of a divorce case which had 
lately attracted much attention, where the husband’s 
petition had been rejected, Sherrard, after a short pause, 

remarked that Mrs. L had been in luck. ‘ ‘ In short, ’ ’ 

he continued, ‘ ‘ luck, not justice, rules. If some modern 


154 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


devil would suddenly unroof the southwest district or 
any district, even the respectable northwest middle class 
quarter, I wonder how many church-going propriety 
professing matrons would escape unscathed !” 

“More than you imagine, probably,” said Deen, 
thoughtfully. 

‘ ‘ After all, the question. What is real morality ? if an- 
swered truly, would sweep away lots of laws which men 
have imposed on those who are weaker than them- 
selves. ’ ’ 

“That is probable” (a reply which disappointed 
Sherrard a little ; he expected an outburst in praise of 
virtue) . “lam inclined to believe that all morality is com- 
prised in the rule, ‘ Do unto others as you would be done 
by,’ but from this many by-laws have diverged. Society 
requires a good deal of compulsory self-denial to keep it 
safe and sound, and we owe it to our neighbours to pay 
this tax on our selfishness. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ And a deuced heavy tax we are called upon to pay ! 
For instance, what an absurd invention marriage is. 
Just think what human nature is, and then what the legal 
obligations of matrimony are, and the amazing thing it 
is to find a case in which they are ever kept ? Picture to 
yourself the appalling sameness of living all the days of 
your life with one woman or one man ?’ ’ 

Deen laughed. ‘ ‘ I grant it seems an unpromising 
arrangement ; but as it grows out of the necessities of our 
social life it succeeds on the whole. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Succeeds ! Pray how many happy marriages have 
you known ?’ ’ 

“ A good many fairly happy ones, — as happy as one 
can expect here below. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Do you think they are any happier up above ?’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


155 


“ I never exercise my imagination with the hereafter,’^ 
said Been, a faraway look coming into her eyes. 

“ Oh ! I fancied you were the essence of ortho- 
doxy. ’ ’ 

“ I do not think I am.” 

“Then I can speak freely. I believe there will be no 
matrimonial shackles in the future. Free love will be 
the rule. ’ ’ 

“It may be so : so many and great changes have come 
to men’s thoughts and opinions and habits that I cease 
to consider any variation impossible. But I doubt if even 
so great a bouleversement would alter the amount of 
pain and pleasure at present existing ; the constant 
would still be constant, the faithless unfaithful, the domi- 
neering would domineer, and the weak would be tram- 
pled under foot. If other conditions were not also 
greatly modified, the real sufferers would be the children 
of the free lovers. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I suppose so. I never thought of them. Well, 
Mrs. Merivale, you are a wonderfully wide-minded 
woman. Does Merivale know you are such an advanced 
liberal ?’ ’ 

“ I fancy he does, but he cares more for opinions on 
music than social matters.” 

‘ ‘ Ah ! yes ; so long as you accompany him so di- 
vinely, he will not want to dissolve partnership.” 

‘ ‘ I hope and believe that the links which bind us are 
stronger and closer than stray chords of music.” 

Sherrard laughed. “Is anything lasting? There,’ 
pointing towards a beautiful stretch of green sword en- 
closed by trees, all flushed with tender green. “ Here 
we are in famous Richmond Park. I think you said you 
had never been here before. Shall we get down and 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


156 

walk to the hotel? It is not far, and send on the 
phaeton. It is such a lovely evening.” 

Deen did not by any means wish to prolong her ttte- 
d,-tHe with Sherrard, but would not refuse, lest it should 
seem like lowering her flag. So they alighted and walked 
over the soft grass to the far-famed ‘ ‘ Star and Garter, ’ ’ 
Sherrard making himself more agreeable than she thought 
he could. 


CHAPTER XI 


The dinner was very gay, and before it was over 
Merivale joined them. He did not seem in a very 
happy frame of mind, and took no notice whatever of 
Deen. 

Room was made for him beside Mrs. Darrell, who 
succeeded apparently in chasing away the cloud from 
his brow. He bestowed all his attention on her, rather 
to the annoyanee of the young host, on whom “the 
wandering widow’ ^ (as Sherrard disrespectfully called 
her) had made some impression. 

Deen noticed her husband’s neglect, which surprised 
her a good deal ; but his refusal to sing seemed still 
more unaccountable, for he was generally quite ready 
‘ ‘ to oblige. ’ ’ 

Could it be that he did not wish to ask her to play for 
him? 

She troubled herself a good deal trying to remember if 
she had done anything to annoy, and then made up her 
mind to ask him straight out as soon as they were alone. 

This intention she carried out, but was much disap- 
pointed with the result, for Merivale told her with some 
impatience not to be fanciful, that he had many annoy- 
ances outside his home of which she could not know 
anything, and all he asked of her was to give him peace 
within it. 

“ I will try, dear,’’ she said, caressingly, slipping her 
hand through his arm. 


157 


158 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


They were standing together in the dining-room, look- 
ing over some notes which awaited their return from 
Richmond. 

‘ ‘ Only do not hesitate to tell me any worries you may 
have, if my sympathy can comfort you, for I do not 
suppose I could offer you any counsel. ’ ’ 

“Well, no. I fancy business is a profound mystery 
to you ; but I am sure you mean well,” this with in- 
finite condescension. “ Here is a request that I should 
preside at a dinner to be given old Carleton, who was 
chairman of the Harborough and Reepham Railway. 
He is retiring from public life. Ah, it is arranged for 
the thirtieth. I hardly think I can manage it.” 

“ Lady St. Ives’s ball is on the thirtieth,” observed 
Deen. 

“Yes, I know ; but I cannot postpone what is some- 
thing of a public duty for any one’s ball.” 

“ No, of course not ; and you know I do not in the 
least mind going alone,” added Deen, in the vain hope 
of facilitating matters. 

‘ ‘ Oh, I am quite aware of you readiness to stand 
alone, ’ ’ returned Merivale ; ‘ ‘ most women would wish to 
have their husband’s escort in such a crowd.” 

‘ ‘ But suppose it was inconvenient to him to give it ? 
My dear Horace, you are overtired, and need a night’s 
rest to make you yourself again. I will say good-night, 
for I am tired myself.” 

Next morning Merivale was cheerful and chatty, yet 
not quite himself ; and in after-days Deen often thought 
that in some unaccountable way the spell she had once 
laid upon him was broken, for never again was he so 
lover-like as he had been at first. 

This threw a lengthening shadow over her life, and 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


159 

was withal so intangible that she knew not how to deal 
with it. 

The boy was, however, still a source of interest and 
pleasure. His improvement under the new conditions 
of his life was striking and satisfactory, and when she 
could snatch an hour from her many engagements to 
walk or drive with him and his governess she quite en- 
joyed discussing plans with the latter for his education 
and training. 

The day of the Marchioness’s ball and also of the 
dinner to the retiring chairman came, as everything 
seemed to come at that busy period, very soon, and 
Deen had planned to drive away into the country with 
Cecil and Miss Thorpe for rest and refreshment. 

It was soon after luncheon, and she had finished writ- 
ing sundry notes in her own morning room when the 
butler approached her with a card, saying, — 

‘ ‘ The lady begs to know if you will be so good as to 
see her, ’m, as she will be in town only for a short time.” 

Deen took the card and read the name, ‘ ‘ Mrs. 
Gwyne, ’ ’ in heavy print. Below was written in pencil, 
”20 Randolph Terrace, N. W.” She flushed to her 
temples in surprise and uneasiness. This must be Cecil’s 
grandmother, whose existence she had all but forgotten. 
Her appearance was not a good omen. 

“ Is the lady in the drawing-room ?” 

“She is, ’m.” 

“ Say I will come directly.” She closed her bureau, 
and went up-stairs. 

Entering the drawing-room, she saw a lady somewhat 
small and very slight, with white hair and a pale face, 
hollow-eyed, with a strained, sad expression, as if she 
and sorrow had lived long in close companionship. She 


i6o 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


was in mourning, and had a refined look. She rose and 
advanced to meet Mrs. Merivale. 

“ I thank you for receiving me,” she said, in a weak, 
unsteady voice ; and Deen observed that her lips quivered. 

‘ ‘ I hardly hoped you would. Do you know who I am ?’ ’ 

“Yes, I do. Pray, sit down ; you seem very tired.” 

“ I am, indeed,— -weary.” She paused, then went on, 
“ I have ventured to call on you, my son-in-law’s second 
wife, because I am told you are kind and gracious, and 
I do not think you will deny the prayer of a broken- 
hearted woman.” 

“ If I can do what you wish, I will,” said Deen, greatly 
moved by the pathos of her visitor’s look and voice. 

‘ ‘ I want to explain something that may seem strange 
to you. I want to look upon my grandson’s face before 
I die.” 

“Yes, you shall see him. But why distress yourself 
with painful explanations. I do not want any thing ex- 
plained. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I must, I must do justice to the dead, ’ ’ pressing her 
handkerchief to her tearless eyes with a mechanical ges- 
ture. “Will you hear me? I implore you to do 
so.” 

Deen could not refuse. “ Speak, then ; I will listen,” 
she said, pressing her thin, tremulous hand, and leading 
her back to the sofa, where she had been sitting. She 
rang and told the butler not to admit any one. 

“You have heard, probably, that my daughter, who 
was Horace Merivale’ s wife, had some mysterious defect 
which rendered it impossible for him to live with her ; 
that they had been living apart, though this was carefully 
veiled ; that she had left the curse of imbecility to her 
only child ? It is all false ! I will tell you the whole 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


i6i 


truth. Believe it, or not, as you will. My poor Linda 
was but a half-developed child when Merivale asked her 
to marry him. I was enchanted, for we were the poorest 
of all pauper’s poor gentry. He was good-looking, 
greatly in love, wealthy, and most generous. I thought 
trouble would never come near us again. Then clouds, 
cold, gloomy clouds, came up and overshadowed every- 
thing. My poor Linda failed on all the points on which 
her husband wanted her to succeed. She lost heart and 
courage ; her intellect seemed dulled ; she grew too 
frightened of her husband to tell him the truth ; he grew 
to distrust her ; and I, God forgive me, was harsh to her. 
I didn’t understand her timid, tender nature. There 
was one, unfortunately, who did ; one who comforted 
her and lived for her, — a distant relative, a man of her 
own age, who was too much with her then, who was 
condescendingly patronized by Merivale. I was blind, 
besotted. And they, — they were foolish, weak, but not 
sinful. I doubted once ; now I am convinced of my 
child’s innocence. At last her lover determined to seek 
her safety in absenting himself. He strengthened her to 
consent to what was right. They met once more to say 
‘good-by,’ and, in the agony of parting, my poor 
Linda gave him her first and last embrace, when Meri- 
vale, whom they thought far away, burst in. Then came 
a terrible scene, followed by a long illness. Would to 
God it had been fatal ! My daughter was only spared 
for suffering long drawn out. Five or six months after 
her boy was born.” 

Mrs. Gwyne paused to collect her forces. 

“It is too dreadful, too tragic, ’ ’ murmured Deen ; 
“ and a cruel sight for a husband’s eyes, you must ad- 
mit. ’ ’ 


I 


i 62 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


‘ ‘ Yes ; I know, I know ; but you are a good woman, 
a tender-hearted woman, and I do not want you to be- 
lieve my unhappy child guilty, — vulgarly guilty. You 
do not yet know — may you never know — the cold con- 
tempt with which he trampled on a creature too weak to 
stand up against him, — the curious, subtle revenge he 
took. If there is any truth in looks, you are one he 
could not trample upon. Oh, be of a good courage and 
hold your own !” 

‘ ‘ But, Mrs. Gwyne, I have only met with kindness 
and generosity from my husband. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Let me finish my miserable story and see my daugh- 
ter’ s child, and I shall trouble you no more. Mr. Meri- 
vale’s intense pride or vanity forbade the exposure of the 
divorce, but he never forgave : from the moment he had 
seen Linda in her cousin’s arms she ceased to be his 
wife. He invented a story of her bad health, her im- 
paired reason. She was sent abroad for three-fourths of 
every year ; a miserable two or three months were spent 
in a sort of captivity at his country place. From the 
first he doubted that the baby was his, and hated the 
little creature. He would unhesitatingly have put mother 
and child to death, could he have done so with safety. 
Well, he did kill his wife, — she literally withered away 
under his all-pervading hatred. Inch by inch her life 
ebbed away. What wore her out was the conviction 
that she had destroyed my happiness and entailed infinite 
misfortune on her innocent child. I was a hard woman, 
but the sight of that helpless girl sinking slowly, resign- 
edly — nay, thankfully — into her grave for three long 
years broke me down. Death would have been a loving 
friend to her but for the horrible dread of the cruelties 
which might await her little son, for Merivale can be 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


163 

cruel and implacable to those who mortify his huge van- 
ity.” She paused as if exhausted. 

Several times Deen attempted to interrupt the flow of 
her speech, to urge excuses for her husband, but the 
speaker did not heed ; she uttered her sad tale in a low 
voice and with intense, controlled feeling, but with a 
deadly calm, as if all passion, all resentment had been 
chilled into icy quiet by absolute hopelessness,— nothing 
mattered now. Her words carried conviction to the heart 
of her hearer, and also cast a deep shadow over Deen’s 
anticipations of the future. If all this was true, how 
could she keep alive the love for her husband which she 
had so carefully cultivated ? 

What can I say to comfort you ?’ ’ she said to the 
sorrowing woman beside her. ‘ ‘ I grieve for my husband, 
too. Some day he will be sorry for the past. But men 
are so unjust . The offence he believed was committed 
against him is unpardonable in the eyes of almost all 
men ; indeed, most of them think death the only suffi- 
cient punishment, — that is, for a wife. Men have wider 
privileges. The opinion of society almost compels them 
to think thus.” 

“ I have lived away from England, in the little south- 
ern town where my daughter died,” resumed Mrs. 
Gwyne, as if she had not heard her. ‘ ‘ It was the only 
place where she seemed to enjoy any peace. A few 
weeks ago I was obliged to come here on a business 
matter and stayed with friends. Among their acquaint- 
ances were some people who live near Larch Hill. In 
their service is a girl who used to be in Mr. Merivale’s, 
and waited on my grandson or on his nurse. She gave 
an account of his loneliness, his neglected condition, and 
the harshness with which he was treated. It upset my 


164 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


mind. I had determined never to see him, never to 
meddle with him. Before such a man as Mr. Merivale I 
am helpless ; but I could not rest. I felt I must see for 
myself. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ And you shall, ’ ’ cried Deen, who began to be anx- 
ious to end the interview, which could lead to no good. 
She rang and sent for the boy. Silence reigned till the 
door opened and Cecil came in, — a bright-eyed, smiling 
little fellow, very different from the poor little pariah orig- 
inally described. He ran up to Deen. 

* ‘ Are you not going out, Mother ?’ ’ 

“Not yet. Go and shake hands with that lady, 
dear.” 

Cecil immediately obeyed, gazing with something like 
awe at her white, stern face, her deep eyes so piercingly 
fixed upon him. 

“The child looks well and happy,” she said, at last, 
with a sigh of relief. “Tell me, are you good ?” 

Cecil reflected, and then said, frankly, “Well, some- 
times. Eh, Mother ?’ ’ 

“Yes, Cecil ; I think you try to be good, and that is 
why you are so much happier.” 

“Yes,” he returned, sagely, “I used always to be 
naughty.” He went back to Deen’s. side, leaning lov- 
ingly against her and playing familiarly with the fringe 
on her epaulettes. 

Mrs. Gwyne looked on in silence for perhaps a min- 
ute, then she rose. ‘ ‘ I need trouble you no more. I 
am satisfied. Promise me to be always his friend. You 
are kind and gentle, but I do not think you are weak. 
Your best, indeed, your only chance of peace is to fear 
nothing. Women are such fools, — such terrible fools ! 
They never know their sources of strength or weakness, 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


165 

and mistake the one for the other. Good-by. God be 
with you. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Let me send for a cab for you, ’ ’ cried Deen, greatly 
touched. “ It is not fit for you to walk about alone.” 

“You forget ; I am used to none of the fancies and 
disabilities which wealth cultivates. Poverty is very 
bracing. It has been a tonic to me. Farewell.” 

As she uttered the last word the door was thrown open 
and a footman announced, ‘ ‘ Mr. Sherrard. ’ ’ That gen- 
tleman was advancing into the room with his usual lordly, 
commanding air when his eyes met those of Deen’s pale, 
shrunken visitor. He paused an instant, a look of great 
surprise coming into his face. He drew to one side and 
made a profound bow. 

Mrs. Gwyne did not seem to see him, but passed 
quickly out of the room. 

“Go back to Miss Thorpe, Cecil,” said Deen, who 
was greatly annoyed by the appearance of Sherrard, 

‘ ‘ and say I cannot go out with you to-day. ’ ’ 

The boy ran off. He never liked to be with Sherrard. 
The door was shut, and Deen, who felt she looked 
pained and shaken, stood face to face with the man she 
half dreaded and wholly disliked. 

‘ ‘ How in the name of heaven did Mrs. Gwyne make 
her way in here ?’ ’ 

“How did you, Mr. Sherrard?” trying to keep her 
voice steady. “ I said ‘ not at home.’ ” 

“ Your man said at home. I am sorry I intruded ; 
but, as I am here, let me speak about this extraordinary 
visit. Why, Mrs. Merivale, you look awfully ill, as if 
you were going to faint. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I never fainted in my life, ’ ’ striving to regain com- 
posure. ‘ ‘ Then you know Mrs. Gwyne ?’ ’ 


i66 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ I knew her right well in her daughter’s time. You 
must remember, Mrs. Merivale, that I have been your 
husband’s friend for many years. In fact, I am the 
only man thoroughly in his secrets. I know him a good 
deal better than you do. Naturally, he likes to show his 
best side to you, and I would advise you not to mention 
having seen this ancient and adamantine dame ; she used 
to be as hard as nails. Merivale will be furious if he 
knows you received her. You need never mention it, 
and it is not necessary to assure you of my silence or 
devotion to your service. What frightful history has 
she been relating to drive the colour from your cheek, 
and make your eyes so sad ?’ ’ 

“It is impossible to take your advice, Mr. Sherrard,” 
said Deen, recovering herself. ‘ ‘ It would be most un- 
wise, most undutiful to conceal from the master of the 
house who is admitted to it.” 

“Undutiful?” repeated Sherrard, smiling. “That’s 
a word I never expected to hear on a woman’s lips, — in- 
deed, on any one’s lips, nowadays.” 

‘ ‘ Whatever it may seem to you, I believe that hus- 
band and wife have certain duties towards each other.” 

‘ ‘ Merivale will make it hot for every one, and he is 
not a man who can forgive and forget. You are too 
tender, too soft a woman to bear harsh words and stern 
looks ; they would cut deeply. Spare yourself unneces- 
sary suffering. I repeat that I know your husband 
better than you do. Why do you not trust me as he 
does ? He knows how well I can keep a secret, — what 
a staunch friend I can be. Why don’t you like me, 
Mrs. Merivale?” 

‘ ‘ Have I ever shown you any want of courtesy or 
consideration ?’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


167 

“No, you are far too well-bred to betray your real 
feelings. At any rate, be guided by me now. I cannot 
bear to think of your hearing, let us say, sharp words 
addressed to your own sweet self. ’ ’ 

“ Do you fancy that this poor lady’s visit could be 
concealed? Such things always become known, and 
no wrath on the part of my husband would be so bad 
to bear as the consciousness that I had prevaricated. 
Besides, I have done no wrong. Horace never forbade 
me to receive Mrs. Gwyne. I did not ask her to come 
here ; and Horace cannot be so unjust as to blame me, 
knowing that I am blameless. Though extremely sorry 
to cause Mr. Merivale the least annoyance, why should 
I fear to speak the truth ? His anger will not make 
black white nor white black. Excuse me, Mr. Sherrard, 
but this visit has affected me a good deal, and I am not 
quite equal to talk to you. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I dare say it has, ’ ’ he interrupted. ‘ ‘ I suppose 
Mrs. Gwyne made out a tremendous story of false accu- 
sation and I don’ t know what. The fact is that Meri- 
vale’ s first wife was only half-witted, and he was 
awfully cut up about it. That is why he can’ t stand the 
sight of that unfortunate boy. He can’t support the 
idea of anything imperfect belonging to him ; and you 
cannot wonder at it. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I do wonder at it, if such is Mr. Merivale’ s 
way of thinking, which I do not believe. But I must 
say good-morning ; my head aches. I will go and lie 
down. ’ ’ 

With a smile and slight bend of the' head, Deen left 
the room. 

Sherrard stood for half a minute gazing at the carpet, 
a deep frown drawing his thick eyebrows together. 


i68 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


‘ ‘ What an infernally reasonable, plucky woman !’ ’ he 
thought. ‘ ‘ I dare say she’ 11 leaven her reason and mask 
her courage with a seasoning of kisses when she comes 
to tell Merivale her story ; otherwise his wounded self- 
love will be ready to accept healing from the first dainty 
doll who offers incense on his shrine. How sweet her 
kisses would be, given or taken ! What »an opportunity 
for Laura Darrell ! Poor little devil ! she is making rather 
too sure of Pierpont. He is by no means a sure card. I 
think I’ll see if she is at home, to give her a hint of how 
things are going all round. ’ ’ 

It can be imagined the painful battle which arose in 
Deen’s mind as she thought over the story told her by 
her unexpected visitor and the mother’s air of suffering 
long endured. The fact of Merivale’ s deep dislike to his 
son seemed to verify her assertions. Against this view 
she eagerly set her husband’s affection for herself, his 
apparently calm judgment, his superior tone. He had 
been sorely tried and cruelly wronged, for his suspicions 
were truth to him. She must deal with him very tenderly, 
and try to bring him round to a better and juster frame 
of mind. 

Nevertheless, she confessed to herself that she dreaded 
the moment of explanation. She was infinitely distressed 
at being compelled to wound him, and though she never 
admitted even to herself that she perceived the full extent 
of his sensitive vanity, she had become conscious that 
self-love formed a large ingredient in his character. His 
sense of wrong was urging him into a wrong track. 
Could she help him to take a wiser, healthier view of 
matters, it would be doing him wifely service. She 
sighed as she resolved to attempt the task, feeling the 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


169 

immense difficulties which beset it. Then she took a 
book to divert her mind from the picture left upon it by 
the words of her visitor. How clearly she saw the quiet 
tragedy of those two hopeless, ruined lives, the watcher 
and the watched ; the weak one sinking into the depths 
of defeat, the conqueror, strong and pitiless, posing as 
the generous, forbearing, injured husband, while he 
waited calmly the success of his well calculated scheme 
which, evading the disgrace of divorce, ensured punish- 
ment and ultimate deliverance, and the poor, innocent, 
unconscious, baby victim, on whom was visited the sins 
of the parents. How the agonised anticipation of the life 
which lay before her little child, left defenceless in the 
hands of a father who hated him, must have robbed death 
of all comfort as an escape from the ills that flesh is 
heir to. 

“If,” thought Deen, “if, indeed, the spirit can live 
again in the unseen hereafter, surely the intensity of 
mother-love would draw one down, even from the joys of 
heaven, to guard the being so cruelly wronged. Oh, I 
will be the mother’s proxy to that poor, starved, childish 
soul ! He shall have love, and care, and every chance of 
entering life equipped for the fray !’ ’ 

No vow was ever more solemnly made or better kept. 

Then she reflected that she had involuntarily taken 
sides against her husband. If he believed, as he evi- 
dently did, that he had been shamefully wronged, it was 
magnanimous of him to shelter his poor, weak wife from 
public scorn, and not to thrust her penniless and friend- 
less on a cruel world with the living token of her shame. 
No, she must not be unjust to the man who had shown 
her so much affection, and generosity, and consideration. 
It was not for her to imagine motives which may not have 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


170 

influenced him. On one point only had she a right to 
judge him ; on that she had a right to speak. Every 
and any one could see his harshness to the child. That 
was wrong, cruel, unworthy of him. She would believe 
only what she saw ; on all else Merivale should have the 
benefit of the doubt. He was, perhaps, too sensitive 
and a little obstinate ; but she had no reason to believe 
him cruel or callous. She would be loving and brave 
enough to be true, a faithful counsellor and helpmate to 
her husband. Having thus wrestled with these strangers 
of thought till she won from them the blessing of repose, 
and yielded for a few moments to the unwonted luxury 
of tears, Deen slept, to her own surprise. 

Every one said how charming Mrs. Merivale looked 
at Lady St. Ives’s ball, though paler than usual. There 
was more than her accustomed air of distinction in her 
carriage, and a spiritual look in her large, soft eyes which 
elicited from Professor Harris, that eloquent exponent of 
theosophy, the observation that she seemed to have just 
returned from the psychic plane. 

Deen enjoyed her evening more than she expected. 
All London — all the London worth knowing — was col- 
lected in the beautiful rooms and corridors of Grantley, 
and she found many travelled and cultivated acquaint- 
ances whose conversation interested and enlivened her. 
She looked in vain, however, for her husband ; he was 
nowhere to be seen. Coming to the conclusion that he 
did not intend to appear, she asked a well-preserved 
general, one of Merivale’ s intimates, to help her in find- 
ing her carriage, and returned home. 

Arrived there, she was surprised and distressed to be 
met with the news that Mr. Merivale had gone to South- 
ampton in consequence of a telegram from Mrs. Jeffries, 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


171 

begging him to come down at once, for she feared the 
General was dying. 

Merivale was much alive to the claims of kindred, and 
was very well disposed to his sister, who had been a sort 
of adoring mother to him in earlier days. She was nearly 
ten years his senior, and, having married late in life, had 
had no children to distract her love and admiration from 
her all-perfect brother. 

She had been removed from all chance of disagreement 
by living at the other side of the globe. So they met in 
a most amiable mood, for Merivale made haste to obey 
Mrs. Jeffries’s summons. 

Deen, though feeling for the distressing conditions 
under which her sister-in-law returned to her native land, 
was dreadfully disappointed not to be able to get over 
the description of Mrs. Gwyne’s visit that night. The 
longer it was postponed the more formidable it seemed. 

Next morning a telegram from Merivale informed her 
that the General had rallied, but was still in a precarious 
state, and begged her to cancel all engagements for the 
present, ending with the words, “will be with you to 
dinner to-night.” 


CHAPTER XII 


While Deen still looked for her husband in the 
moving crowd at Lady St. Ives’s ball, Mrs. Darrell 
had arranged her pretty little drawing-room with fresh 
flowers, and exhorted her capable servant to do her very 
best with the coffee ; then with her own hands polished 
the delicately engraved liquor glasses intended to con- 
tain the green chartreuse which was to be the succeed- 
ing chasse. Finally, she made her own carefully negli- 
gent toilette and was ready for all comers. She waited 
for some time, however, before the door-bell sounded, 
and then a solitary visitor, Graf. Sherrard, appeared. 

He smiled as he observed that she looked beyond 
him with some expectancy as he took her hand. 

“No,” he said, in reply to the look, “I have not 
brought the other victim ; the stars do not fight for you, 
Laura, nor for me, either. After sitting out a detestable 
dinner and hearing an incomparably neat and appropri- 
ate speech from our friend, proposing the health of the 
guest, Merivale sent for me. He had had a telegram 
from his sister, who with her husband had just landed at 
Southampton, where the inconvenient brother-in-law was 
going to make a die of it. So Merivale deputed one of 
the directors to fill his place, and started for Waterloo to 
do his duty like a Britain. ’ ’ 

“What a nuisance!” cried Mrs. Darrell, her great 
dark eyes flashing impatient fire. ‘ ‘ I did not fancy he 
172 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


173 

was the sort of man to victimise himself on the altar of 
family duty.” 

‘ ‘ He is a curious mixture, or rather his ruling passion 
irrigates his whole system in so many rills and streamlets 
that it creates the appearance of variety, whereas it 
really is all one and indivisible.” 

‘ ‘ I hate you when you prate philosophically !’ ’ she 
exclaimed. 

‘ ‘ Hate me ? Come, that is too great a demand on 
my credulity, and too ungrateful into the bargain.” 

“ It is only when you are in a particular mood. Tell 
me, who is this brother-in-law ?’ ’ 

“A General Jeffries. He is a regular hypochondriac, 
I believe.” 

‘ ‘ Used he to be at Bombay some seven or eight years 
ago ? If so, I think I knew him. He had a terribly 
stuck-up wife, — not at all unlike what Merivale might 
be, if ten years older and in petticoats. 

“ I know nothing of the Jeffries history. Where is the 
coffee you promised? I refused the lukewarm stuff 
they offered me, hoping to find the right thing here. I 
could never imagine anything lukewarm under your 
auspices. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Darrell’s reply was to ring for the required re- 
freshment. Having partaken of it, and watched his 
hostess with a half-smile for a minute or two, he said in 
the curiously blunt yet caressing manner he sometimes 
put on or yielded to, — 

“What’s the matter? You are tremendously put 
out. Have I offended, or what is it?” 

Well — yes ! I think you might have got me an in- 
vitation to Lady St. Ives’s ball. She is your cousin, is 
she not ?’ ’ 


174 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ She has that honour. But if you think that being 
an acquaintance of mine is any recommendation to her, 
you are exceedingly mistaken. She absolutely disap- 
proves of me, and so does her old prig of a husband. 
You would have been bored to death there.” 

“No, I should not ! I am never bored when I get 
what I want ; besides, it is the thing to be seen at 
Grantley House. It was a chance lost of showing my- 
self among the best of the upper ten. ’ ’ 

“ Never mind, when you marry Pierpont and kill your 
brother-in-law, you will astonish London and soar into 
the loftiest circles. ’ ’ 

“No doubt — when I am Mrs. Pierpont ! The little 
idiot does not know his own mind, and I do not think I 
have much chance of securing that golden calf. I really 
don’t think he has enough money to make him en- 
durable as a husband. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ He has fallen off, then, in his attentions ? 1 tell you 
what, my dear little woman, you were unwisely taken up 
with Merivale the other day at Richmond. The boy 
was offended. It was decidedly imprudent. How was 
it you let Merivale slip through your fingers ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Absence, in his case, did not make the heart grow 
fonder. I had a horrid cold early last autumn which 
made me as stupid as an owl and unfit to be seen, so I 
stayed in bed, while Merivale went on a round of visits ; 
to the Hilltons, among other places ; there he met his 
wife, and was made captive at once. He seemed to have 
forgotten my existence from the moment he met her.” 

“That is a way man, ungrateful man, has when 
he finds metal more attractive than the last magnet. 
But he has evidently been evoking j/ou from the caverns 
of his memory very successfully. He may not be avail- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


175 


able for matrimony now, but he would make a first-rate 
utility man. His money is such a splendid ingredient in 
a platonic friendship, and he’s no niggard. Besides, I 
fancy he will be greatly in need of some woman’s sym- 
pathy before long, or I am much mistaken. Then you 
would find your opportunity.” 

“What do you mean?” cried Mrs. Darrell, eagerly. 
“ What have you found out ?” 

‘ ‘ Nothing new ; only my penetrating faculties have 
perceived that the step-son will be a point of cleavage in 
the near future. Merivale could not exist without a 
woman to worship him. Now the ‘ nearness of domes- 
ticity’ does not ‘lend enchantment to the view.’ Our 
friend requires a lot of management, and his fascinating 
wife is unfortunately incapacitated for the practice of 
such treatment. ’ ’ 

• ‘ ‘ How so, Graf. ? She isn’ t at all stupid for a regular, 
good woman ; and she is, I think, well-tempered.” 

‘ ‘ I think so, too ; but she has two qualities which are 
fatal to managerial success, — honesty and reason. She 
is a lovely woman, that’s the word. I could make a 
fool of myself for her, if there was not something about 
her I detest and resent. I feel I could be a cruel hus- 
band or a cruel lover to her.” 

“ No one in the world could manage you, Graf.” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps not, but I should be angry if they did not 
try. I want to get into Mrs. Merivale’ s confidence, and 
if you play into my hands, why, you can do yourself a 

good turn, and But this is nonsense, ’ ’ breaking off. 

‘ ‘ I may not be much longer in London. I have lost 
rather heavily of late. I think of an expedition to the 
‘ Rockies’ for the good of my financial health ; so think 
of your own interests and put me out of your head.” 


176 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


Mrs. Darrell started up and paced the room. “ As if 
I could, Graf. , as if I could. I know that you could put 
me aside without a pang, without a thought, yet I can- 
not shake off the spell you have laid upon me. Will 
that nephew of yours neuer die, and set you free from 
the chains of cruel necessity ? Then I should know if 
you still loved me or not. ’ ’ 

“Yes, you would know then beyond a doubt. But, 
my warm little brown bird, I shall not poison my nephew, 
even for you. Still, I feel very sure I shall outlive him. 
So you stick to me, my darling. Meantime, cultivate 
both husband and wife. Both may be useful in their 
respective lines. It is quite a comfort to be able to 
speak out to a woman who knows what life is, 2i^you do. ’ ’ 

“And may be made use of,” added Mrs. Darrell. 
“I do not exactly see what your game is, but I shall 
find out in time.” 

“ No doubt. Meanwhile, don’t let Pierpont go. He 
is a party not to be despised ; and think what a triumph 
it would be to reign as mistress in the ancestral home of 
the Darrells after the rebuffs and disappointments you 
have had.” 

“ I am in no humour to think of triumphs. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Why not ? There are lots before you. Now I must 
say good-night.” 

“You never have time to stay now, Graf; you are 
always ‘going on’ somewhere.” 

“No one has time at this season. Look here ; suppose 
you call and see Mrs. Merivale to-morrow early ; say you 
heard of General Jeffries’s illness, and that you called to 
ask what report she had had. She may ask you to stay 
to luncheon, which will be better than you can get at 
home, and Mrs. Merivale will be glad of your company.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


177 


Mrs. Darrell made no reply. Sherrard took her hand, 
kissed it with a mock air of devotion, and said, “The 
sulks are not becoming. Adieu, my sweet friend, adieu. ’ ’ 
********* 
Deen looked forward with much impatience and no 
little dread to her husband’s return. She knew him 
well enough by this time to anticipate the effect her com- 
munication would have, yet she must not hesitate to in- 
form him of Mrs. Gwyne’s visit. That any one should 
blame or find fault with him was something unpardonable 
in his eyes ; and that she, the wife of his bosom, should 
in any way take sides against him would seem flat blas- 
phemy. She felt too ill at ease to enjoy a morning walk 
with Cecil and his governess, as she often did when time 
permitted, and the announcement that Mrs. Darrell 
would be glad to speak to her if she were disengaged 
was most annoying. She did not dislike or distrust the 
fascinating little widow ; in fact, she was sorry for her, 
and would have been glad to do her ‘ ‘ a good turn’ ’ ; but 
she was never tempted to put any trust in her or to speak 
to her out of the fulness of her heart. Something in her 
nature acted as a touchstone to test the sincerity of her 
would-be friend by some mental operation of which she 
was scarcely conscious. 

Mrs. Darrell, though kindly received, was able to make 
out but little, and amused herself by telling some droll 
stories of the hypochondriac General which made Deen 
smile. She hoped and believed, however, that Sherrard 
had said nothing respecting the visit of Merivale’s 
mother-in-law. 

At luncheon, to which Mrs. Darrell was invited, Deen 
was informed that her husband’s valet had returned. 
She desired that he should come and speak to her. The 
12 


178 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


man gave a very encouraging account of the General, 
whose attack the doctor said was due to a bad fit of in- 
digestion, and it was hoped that in a few days he would 
be well enough to travel. His master, he said, had come 
up by an early train, but did not expect to be home before 
eight o’clock. 

As the day was thus free, Deen offered to take Mrs. 
Darrell with her to pay some distant visits, and together 
they distributed much pasteboard. She was glad to be 
alone for an hour or two before Merivale’s return, and 
tried to arrange in her own mind how she could make 
the story she had to tell least offensive. She longed to 
look on her husband’s face again, but she did not admit 
to herself that the reason was that she wondered if it 
would look the same to her in the light of his mother- 
in-law’s revelations. But after all, whatever the truth 
might be, he must have suffered cruelly, and she must 
and did feel for ‘him. 

Having drefssed with care, Deen went to the piano to 
while away th’e time, playing over the accompaniment of 
a new song with which Merivale was greatly pleased. 
This made time go rather quicker, and she was startled 
when he entered. She went swiftly to meet him and 
gave him an affectionate greeting, feeling that the warmth 
with which he returned it made the task before her more 
difficult. 

Having exchanged a few words, Merivale said, — 

‘ ‘ Graf. Sherrard looked in at the bank and told me 
there’s a house belonging to his nephew to let fur- 
nished which might suit my sister. It is near us, and 
not expensive. I asked him to come in to dinner to talk 
it over, for I could not give him a moment then. The 
fact is, I did think of asking the General to stay here, but 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


179 


I see that would not do. I suspect he is an awful bore 
and exceedingly troublesome. It would be well if they 
came direct to a house of their own.’' 

Deen felt awfully disappointed, as if her flank had 
been turned ; but, after all, Sherrard would have to leave 
some time, then she would have her innings. 

‘ ‘ That sounds as if it might suit very well, ’ ’ she re- 
turned ; “but I should have preferred having you to 
myself this evening, Horace.” 

Merivale smiled, well pleased. ‘ ‘ I don’ t think Sherrard 
will stay late. We can have a gossip afterwards, and 
try over a song or two. Though Graf, is rather a 
diamond in the rough, he is really fond of music. I 
will go and dress. I shall not keep you waiting, my 
love.” 

He had hardly left the room when ‘ ‘ Mr. Sherrard’ ’ 
was announced, and Deen thought there was something 
of triumph in his rugged face. 

“You did not expect to see me, Mrs. Mferiv^le ; and I 
fancy you are not too pleased by my advent,” he said, 
laughing. 

‘ ‘ Why do you think so ?’ ’ asked Deen, compelling 
herself to smile. 

‘ ‘ Because it will postpone the disclosure you want to 
make. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Only for an hour or two. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I wish to give you an opportunity of changing your 
mind, Mrs. Merivale. If you do not take my advice, 
you will certainly regret it. ’ ’ 

“No doubt you mean well, Mr. Sherrard, but in this 
matter my mind is quite made up.” 

‘ ‘ Then you are preparing a stormy future for your- 
self.” 


i8o 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ If you know all about Mr. Merivale’s past, Mr. Sher- 
rard, why should it be hidden from me, his wife. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Why, just because you are his wife. He wishes to 
pose as all perfect in your eyes. ’ ’ Deen shook her head, 
and Sherrard continued to urge her to secrecy for the 
few minutes which intervened before Merivale came down 
and dinner was announced. 

The talking was chiefly done by the men, Deen listen- 
ing in almost continuous silence, but noting with keen 
attention the dexterity with which Sherrard contrived in 
his blunt contradictions to convey an impression of being 
influenced by his friend’s superiority, while he fastened 
his own yoke on Merivale’s neck. It seemed to the wife 
that a sudden light had exhibited her husband’ s favoured 
guest in new and unattractive colours. 

The conversation was animated and prolonged after 
Sherrard asked for certain favourite songs finally, and 
reluctantly he took his leave. 

“Are you very tired?’’ asked Deen, when Merivale 
returned, after seeing his guest off. 

“ Yes — no. Why do you ask?’’ 

‘ ‘ Because I have something to tell you which I 
should like to say before I sleep. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Why, Deen, this is absolutely alarming. Is it a very 
long story ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, no ; give me half an hour. ’ ’ 

“Very well ; pray remember I am rather sleepy ; that 
confounded telegram deprived me of a night’s rest, and 
really there was no need of it whatever. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I had a very unexpected visitor yesterday, ’ ’ she 
paused, and heard the strong beating of her heart. 

“ Indeed ! Who was the intruder?’’ 

“ Some one you knew very well once, — Mrs. Gwyne.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


i8i 


Merivale changed colour and started to his feet. 

‘ ‘ Good God !’ ’ he exclaimed. ‘ ‘ How did you come 
to admit her ?’ ’ 

* ‘ She had been admitted before her card was brought 
to me.” 

‘ ‘ But you must be quite aware that I will not permit 
her to enter my doors.” 

‘ ‘ Indeed, I am not ; you never said anything about her, 
except that she had indifferent health and usually resided 
abroad. I perceived in some instinctive way that your 
recollections of your married life were not pleasant ; but 
I did not dream you had such a decided objection to 
your mother-in-law.” 

‘ ‘ And did you sit and listen to her abuse of me ?’ ’ 

“Do you think it probable that I should do so, 
Horace? She did not abuse you.” 

‘ ‘ What did she tell you ?’ ’ he asked, almost fiercely, 
and pausing in his troubled walk to and fro. 

” A sad, deplorable story,” she returned, keeping her 
eyes cast down to save him the discomfort of meeting 
them. “ Don’t you understand the shame and sorrow 
I felt when I thought of all you must have suffered ? and 
yet I felt for the sorely-stricken mother, too. ’ ’ 

“Spare me your condolence,” cried Merivale, furi- 
ously. 

‘ ‘ Are you angry because I feel for you ?’ ’ asked 
Deen, astonished. 

‘ ‘ Everything connected with that wretched time is so 
infernally humiliating. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I would not offend you by speaking more on the 
subject, Horace, had I not a strong feeling that you 
exaggerate the culpability of the wrong-doer. I do not 
believe your unhappy wife wronged you beyond trusting 


i 82 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


another with the secret sorrow of heart, not being able 
to keep your affection, — that was bad enough, I know ; 
but, oh, my dear husband, I do believe that poor little 
boy is your own son. His mother on her death-bed, 
when this life, its shame and sorrow, its pride, its degra- 
dation, was virtually ended, solemnly declared he was. 
That is not the time when men or women lie, and he is 
like you, sometimes very like. You must not hate him, 
as I fear you do. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ It would be wiser and more considerate towards me 
if you had never mentioned the subject,” returned Meri- 
vale, white with anger and still pacing to and fro. 

‘ ‘ What ? Do you think I ought to have concealed 
Mrs. Gwyne’s visit from you? Why, Horace, when you 
came to know of it, your first feeling would have been 
anger against me for having concealed it, or anything 
else from you ; and such secrets always become known. 
Why are you so vexed ? Do you think I blame you ? 
No ; I only sympathise with you in the grief such ingrati- 
tude must have caused you. ’ ’ 

” Yes ; and regard for myself for the character I bear 
made me defenceless. I dared not strike as I would have 
done. ’ ’ 

“Many punishments are worse than death. Ah, 
Horace, why will you not allow yourself the luxury of 
forgiving ; or, if you still disbelieve the child is yours, 
ought you to punish the innocent baby for its mother’s 
sins ?’ ’ 

“And am I to own the son of another man?” 

“You have done so, Horace, and thus pledged your- 
self to a certain amount of fatherly care. A life is a pre- 
cious thing. Is it well to impress it morally by surround- 
ing its opening years with doubt, dislike, harshness, and 


THE STEP-MOTHER 183 

wither all good truthful tendencies by repression and 
misunderstanding ?’ ’ 

“Suppose I brought you home a nameless brat, 
which you knew was my son by another woman than 
yourself, and told you you must cherish it as your own, 
what would you say ? what would you do ?” 

‘ ‘ I should cherish it, or any forsaken, helpless creature 
besides,” stretching out her hand with an inexpressibly 
gracious gesture. “Don’t you think I should love a 
child of yours, whoever was the mother ?’ ’ 

Merivale, to her disappointment and mortification, took 
no notice of this overture. 

‘ ‘ I have always hated eccentricity and sickly senti- 
mentality,” he said, coldly. “I should prefer my wife 
being guided by me in conduct and opinions, than given 
to indulge in fits of generosity gone mad. ’ ’ 

“lam quite willing to be guided by you. I know that 
you have in many directions far more knowledge, also 
sounder judgment than I have ; but I will never give up 
my right to form my own opinion, or sink from an indi- 
vidual to an echo.” 

‘ ‘ I desire that this topic may never be alluded to 
again ; as to that — that boy whom you have so unwisely 
taken up, I shall take medical opinions I can get as to 
his mental condition, and, if in any way justified, I shall 
put him in some institution where he will be properly 
treated, and rid my house of so incongruous an inmate, 
my life of his degrading presence.” 

“ Horace,” exclaimed his wife, gravely and impres- 
sively, ‘ ‘ Cecil is as sane as you are. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XIII 


It was dinner-time next day before Deen saw her 
husband again. Then they only met in the hall when 
both were dressed and ready to step into the carriage 
which waited to take them to a carefully arranged ban- 
quet given by a wealthy bachelor noted for the perfection 
of his entertainments. Indeed, Merivale was a little 
jealous of his high reputation. 

The company to be met with in his house was as in- 
tellectually stimulating as were the viands and wines 
offered for consumption. 

Deen was a great favourite with Mr. Sandford, who de- 
clared she was one of the few women with whom he 
could converse rationally, and he rarely omitted her 
from the mixed dinner-parties of which he generally 
gave three or four in the season ; his dinners to men 
only were much more frequent. 

Deen had passed a most unhappy day. Everything 
about her seemed painfully uncertain and indefinite ; she 
could not make up her mind if she had done well or ill, 
wisely or unwisely. Ought she to have taken Sherrard’s 
advice ? Her instinct rather than her reason told her 
no ; that Sherrard was not to be trusted, that the curious 
repulsion she felt towards him was a species of warning 
not to be neglected. 

But how was she to heal the breach which had sud- 
denly yawned between her and her husband. To be on 
cool, artificially courteous terms with one so near and, 
1S4 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


185 

she believed, dear to her, was an impossibility to such a 
nature as Deen’s Yet she could not and would not 
retract her opinion respecting Merivale’s mistake in 
his doubts of his wife, his son, and his son’s intelli- 
gence. 

She was quite ready to make friends, as children say, 
if he would make any advance, or even accept hers, and 
let things slide for the present ; but she must do what 
was right as far as the boy was concerned, nor could she 
be so false to herself as to ask forgiveness from one who 
had no right to be offended with her. 

Her home feeling, which had latterly been less tran- 
quil and profound than when she first took the head of 
her husband’s house, seemed breaking away, shattered 
by the concussion of opinions, and she could hardly 
bear up under the friction of thought that had worn her 
throughout the day. 

“ I don’t think your charming wife seems quite up to 
the mark, Merivale,” said their host after dinner. “ Her 
eyes look weary, and she is not in her usual buoyant 
spirits. Take care of her, my dear fellow. I don’t see 
any one like her in town.” 

“You are very good. I fancy the season has been 
rather exhausting, and she was not accustomed to so 
much racket. I should run away to my little place in 
the country for a few days, only I expect my brother-in- 
law and sister next week. He nearly died on his arrival, 
and we were obliged to cancel one or two engagements. 
Very glad to have been able to come here to-night. No 
one likes to miss one of your dinners,, Sandford,” re- 
turned Merivale, blandly, while he thought how absurd 
his wife was to let her sentimentality blanch her cheeks 
and dull her wit. He was really unfortunate ! To all 


i86 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


appearance, he had found the exact thing in wives to 
suit him, and now she had gone off on such an extraor- 
dinary tangent to espouse the cause of that miserable 
little bastard who had peen pawned off as his son. At 
any rate, Deen was very fond of him, so he would give 
her a lesson. He would not relax his silent resentment 
till she came metaphorically to his feet and sued for for- 
giveness. 

But Deen did not beg for pardon. She was very 
sweet, and often looked at him wistfully ; once she asked 
if he was going to be always angry with her, for it made 
her very unhappy. He replied that she had no right to 
complain ; that if she did not oppose him all would go 
well, and left the room before she could reply. 

At this time Deen rarely saw her husband alone. It 
was the height of the season ; they dined out or received 
at home every day, and Merivale decided to give a large 
musical party, the preparations for which gave his wife 
infinite trouble, but was a great success, even soothing 
Merivale’ s ruffled vanity for twenty-four hours. 

Deen was in truth dismayed at his continued coldness, 
the slow, continuous widening of the breach between 
them. Some influence foreign to her own was, she felt, 
working upon him. 

This she attributed to Sherrard, who grew more and 
more intrusive, and did his best to ascertain how far 
the estrangement between husband and wife had pro- 
gressed. 

The musical party over, Deen’s next engrossing occu- 
pation was engaging and preparing a furnished house for 
General and Mrs. Jeffries, the former having at last 
agreed to feel well enough for the two and a half hours’ 
journey to town. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


187 


Deen was anxious to meet and know her husband’s 
sister. If she could secure another friend in her for the 
poor little boy, it would be a great achievement. 

As General Jeffries expected to be far too much ex- 
hausted after his travels to dine at Linden Gardens, 
preparations were carefully made for that meal at his 
own house. 

Deen was duly in waiting to receive the wayfarers 
about six, too early an hour for Merivale to be released 
from business. 

The rooms had been made pretty and homelike, and 
Deen had herself arranged abundant flowers, fresh from 
the Larch Hill conservatories, in the dining-room and a 
smaller rpom behind it, looking on a large general gar- 
den, furnished as a private sitting-room for the invalid. 

She was beginning to think her expected relatives 
were rather late, when her own brougham drove up, 
followed by a four-wheeler laden with luggage, through 
the window of which she perceived the dark, good-look- 
ing face of a native servant wearing European clothes, 
with the addition of a white turban. He immediately 
got out and hastened to assist the General to alight and 
support him into the house. He was followed by a tall, 
slight lady with grey hair and rather pale eyes, which 
deteriorated a good deal from the becoming effect 
grey or white hair often produces. She was very well 
and carefully dressed in a travelling costume of dark 
tweed and an exceedingly neat straw bonnet. At the 
first glance Deen was struck by her likeness to Merivale, 
a faded, colourless likeness with a simpering, inane look. 

“Welcome home, my dear sir,” said Deen, with 
kindly courtesy. ” I trust you have borne the journey 
very well ?’ ’ 


i88 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“Glad to see you, my dear Madam. I am nearly 
dead,” said the General, in gasps. 

He was a stout, red faced man, with round, protruding 
eyes that gave him an air of perpetual indignant aston- 
ishment. 

‘ ‘ Is there any champagne ?’ ’ and he tumbled into an 
easy-chair. 

“Yes, of course. Jackson,” to a sedate looking 
man out of livery, ‘ ‘ bring some champagne’ ’ ; and she 
went on to greet Mrs. Jeffries, who came into the hall 
laden with all sorts of small bags and parcels, which she 
declined to give to the neat maid Deen had engaged to 
wait on her. 

“ Oh, my dear !” she exclaimed, dropping all her 
parcels and only retaining the fringe of bags which 
hung from her arms. ‘ ‘ This is a trying moment ; pleas- 
urably trying, of course,” and she struggled to put back 
her veil in order to kiss her sister-in-law. ‘ ‘ I have so 
long looked forward to meeting you, my dear, and I am 
so worn out by anxiety that I do not feel equal to bear 
any more emotion. Come — come in here, that I may 
look at you. I know how perfect my dear brother’s 
taste is, and I am sure to love and admire you. He is 
an extraordinary man. Is he not, my dear ?’ ’ 

“ He is, indeed,” said Deen, smiling at the scrutiny 
she was subjected to, but standing in the full light of the 
large dining-room window. 

“Yes, indeed; I might have known you anywhere 
as the sort of woman he would most probably marry. 
Ah ! I hope you will atone to him for his undeserved 
sufferings. His one and only mistake was his first un- 
fortunate marriage. She was a lovely creature, but mad, 
my dear, quite mad. Fortunately, her insanity did not 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


189 

take the form of homicidal mania, or I should have had 
to mourn the loss of the best of brothers ; and now 
he is left with an imbecile son ; but I ought not to dwell 
on these painful topics, only they are ever-present. 
What is the General doing ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ He sat down in the room which I thought would do 
for his study, and was going to have some champagne,” 
returned Deen, a little bewildered by Mrs. Jeffries’s con- 
tinuous flow of words, uttered in a mild, monotonous 
tone. 

“Champagne !” cried Mrs. Jeffries, with a little shriek. 
“ Why, it is death to him.” 

“lam very sorry, but he asked for it.” 

‘ ‘ Asked for it ?’ ’ with dismay. ‘ ' I have no doubt he 
did. There’s nothing he would not ask for, — cheese and 
pickles, plum-pudding and Devonshire cream, anything. 
You know he is a martyr to indigestion, and the moment 
his life has been saved from one attack he begins to pre- 
pare another. There is no use in warning him. The 
least remonstrance puts him in a fury, — a perfect fury. I 
should like to see my room, dear. What’s this your 
name is ? Deen. It is a very odd name.” 

“ It was my father’s contraction of Geraldine.” 

“Oh, what a pity. Geraldine is quite an aristocratic 
name.” 

Mrs. Jeffries followed Deen up-stairs, and expressed her 
approval of all the arrangements made for her comfort. 

‘ ‘ My beloved brother, ’ ’ she said, ‘ ‘ was always so 
thoughtful of one’s wants, and careful to supply them ; 
all this consideration is just like him.” 

Deen smiled, but did not say that he took no trouble 
whatever in preparing for his sister’s arrival, except in 
making an agreement for the house. He had the real 


190 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


business faculty, and liked to get the full value for his own 
money, or that of any one for whom he acted. 

Having taken off her out-door garments (talking all 
the time), and asking how soon Deen thought she might 
be able to find a lady’s maid, the sound of angry words 
uttered in a loud tone attracted her attention. 

‘ ‘ Oh, my goodness ! the General is storming again. 
I really should not be surprised if he burst a blood-vessel, 
one day. I must go and see what is the matter. That 
servant of his is the very worst person he could have 
about him. He is so false. I never believe a word 
Achmet says’ ’ ; she went quickly down-stairs, followed by 
Deen, who was much surprised at the row which seemed 
going on. 

They found the General standing in the hall, leaning on 
his stick, speaking loudly in English and Hindoostanee. 

“ Take those damned flowers away. They are enough 
to poison a troop with their infernal smell. Take ’ em all 
away ; ay, out of the dining-room, too. Who the devil 
put them there ? Don’ t you all know I can’ t stand their 
horrid smell ? By Jove, I’d be a gone coon if I sat in the 
room with them half an hour. Here, throw them into 
the street. ’ ’ 

Achmet was proceeding to lay violent hands on the 
fragrant, beautiful blossoms, when Mrs. Jeffries arrested 
his sacrilegious fingers. 

“Take them up to the drawing-room, Achmet ; I want 
them all. The perfume never did harm to any one.” 

‘ ‘ It does to me ; and I will never enter your drawing- 
room if you make it unbearable. ’ ’ 

“ I am sure I do not expect you to do so ; and I shall 
have the flowers if I like. I don’t want you to pay for 
them.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


191 

Here the General began a retrograde movement on the 
study, but Deen ventured to approach him. 

“lam the culprit, my dear sir,” she said. ‘ ‘ I brought 
all the flowers and placed them in the rooms, and I 
erred in ignorance ; so pray forgive me. I shall not offend 
again ; no, do rest till dinner is ready. Then you will see 
if I have found you a good cook. I have only engaged 
her by the week. You must not quarrel with me on our 
first meeting.” 

‘ ‘ By George, I am too much of an old soldier to say 
no to a pretty woman, and a deuced pretty one, too. 
No, my dear ; I hope you will do me the honour of 
being my friend. Where’s your husband? Isn’t he 
coming to see us ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ He is terribly busy just now, but hopes to look in 
before you retire for the night. Now I must leave you, 
as we dine a little earlier to-day. It is our night at 
the opera, and you know how important music is to 
Horace.” 

When Deen reached home she remembered that Miss 
Thorpe had asked if she could go out to tea that evening, 
and that in granting the request she promised Cecil he 
should have his tea with her. 

She found him awaiting her return, and looking a little 
white and anxious lest he should be disappointed. But 
there was another reason for his evident disturbance, for 
as soon as Deen had removed her hat, and they were 
alone together, the boy exclaimed, — 

‘ ‘ Mother, don’ t be angry ; I have done something 
drefful.” 

“Tell me the truth, Cecil, and I will not be angry.” 

I — I broke that funny little china inkstand that is on 
your writing-table. ’ ’ 


192 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


‘ ‘ What ! the stand with two figures carrying a basket 
between them?” asked Deen in some dismay, for the 
inkstand was a very perfect bit of Dresden china, and a 
present from Merivale. 

” I am dreadfully sorry, Cecil ; I valued that inkstand 
greatly. How did you do it ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ My long pencil was behind it. I stretched over to 
get it, and my sleeve caught it and it fell. I am sorry, 
mother ; I did not intend it. I ” 

“No, lam sure you did not ; only another time ” 

She was stopped by the opening door and the awful 
appearance of Merivale. 

He looked fairly good-humoured, and Deen instinc- 
tively drew away from the table on which lay the frag- 
ments of the pretty toy, hoping Merivale might not notice 
them. 

But he had a keen Jiaire for faults or fractures. 
His eye was first attracted by the unusual presence of 
Cecil. He felt surprised, nay, we must admit, disap- 
pointed, at the improvement in the boy’s appearance, 
and Cecil, not having beheld his father for many weeks, 
had forgotten in some degree the terror he used to in- 
spire ; remembering Deen’s instructions, he went up to 
Merivale, saying, “Good-evening, Father.” 

Merivale nodded, but his speech was stopped, for he 
caught sight of the broken inkstand. 

“By Jove! some of those awkward servants have 
smashed your Dresden inkstand. It was a little gem. 
Find out who did it ! Will not keep such a clumsy 
noodle in my house.” 

Deen’s heart stood still ; that the child should confess 
was more than could be expected. If she betrayed him, 
a severe punishment would follow ; if she screened him, 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


193 


it would teach deceit. To her joy and triumph the child 
said quickly, but hesitatingly, “ I am so sorry ; I didn’t 
mean it. But — but I tumbled it down, and it broke.” 

“You careless little hound, you deserve a good flog- 
ging,” exclaimed Merivale with uplifted hand, hatred 
gleaming in his eyes. 

“No, no! Horace,” cried Deen, catching his hand 
before it could descend on the boy. ‘ ‘ He deserves en- 
couragement, not punishment. He dared to tell the 
truth, and he shall not suffer for it. ’ ’ 

Merivale felt he was wrong, and was consequently 
most indignant with his wife. 

‘ ‘ Send him away. It is too late for any more non- 
sense. Why do you have him here when I am likely 
to come in?” said Merivale, as poor little Cecil rapidly 
departed. 

‘ ‘ I rarely offend in that way, Horace. But I am not 
sorry he was here to-day. His answer must prove to 
you the good effect of kind, reasonable treatment ; fear 
would make a liar of any child.” 

‘ ‘ Spoiling will not improve them. The foolhardiness 
of his confession, however, does not show the sanity 
you boast of. Your opposition to the course I think it 
best to pursue will have disastrous effects. Be warned 
in time. What is your judgment in such a case com- 
pared to mine? Having learned by an unfortunate 
accident the suspicions I have respecting his parentage, 
it makes your obstinate adherence to your own opinion 
the more objectionable. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ At least, it made your dislike to the poor child less 
unnatural and reprehensible, Horace. I will not attempt 
to argue that matter, but at least the innocent creature 
has his life to live. It would have been more merciful 

13 


194 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


to have disowned him and left him to his poverty-stricken, 
erring mother than destroy his chances in the future by 
starving his heart and mind. ’ ’ 

“You are talking sentimental nonsense. Was I to 
expose myself to the contemptuous pity of society as a 
deceived, bamboozled husband for the sake of doing a 
sort of poetic justice to my wife’s bastard ?’’ 

“ Horace !” cried his wife. “ Why do you not throw 
your heart open to higher and truer thoughts. These 
small motives, this petty fear of the world’s considera- 
tion, are unworthy of you. Be he yours or not, this poor 
solitary little soul is helpless in your hands. Is it 
manly, is it just, to trample him under your feet, to cast 
him into the cruel, cold, tempest-tossed sea of life, un- 
armed, to drift or drown, without the faintest chance of 
guidance or anchorage ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ On the contrary, believing him to be half-witted, I 
wish to put him under wholesome restraint, and keep 
him in obscure comfort all the days of his life. ’ ’ 

“ Good heavens, Horace, is it possible you wish him 
to be an imbecile ? You cannot believe he is one?” 

A sob interrupted her. 

“What can you be thinking of, Deen?” exclaimed 
Merivale, indignantly. “You will disfigure ^yourself ; 
you will have red eyes, and people will think I am beat- 
ing my wife. ’ ’ 

Deen could not resist smiling at the despair of his 
tone. 

“ Do not be alarmed,” she said ; “ I will not disfigure 
myself. ’ ’ 

“We must not waste time. We have scarcely time 
to dress. To-morrow or next day I will tell you my 
wishes on the subject of this unfortunate boy, and I ex- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 195 

pect you to give due consideration to the plan I intend 
to follow.” 

“I shall certainly weigh whatever you have to pro- 
pose with most serious thought, and in return pray do 
not reject what I shall suggest. ’ ’ 

Seven ten!” exclaimed Merivale, looking at his 
watch. “For heaven’s sake, be quick, or we shall lose 
the overture. I do not want to miss any part of the 
opera. Pray put on your diamond stars. There will 
be a very brilliant audience to-night. ’ ’ 

“Yes. I shall make a careful toilette, even though a 
rapid one.” 

‘ ‘ How can I persuade him and win him into a better 
frame of mind ?’ ’ thought Deen, while the maid dressed 
her hair. “lam right, and I must be frank and true ; 
but we are drifting apart. He cannot forgive me for 
speaking the truth. What can I do? What shall I 
do?” 


CHAPTER XIV 


Time did nothing to facilitate the difficult task that 
Deen had undertaken. She rarely saw Merivale alone, 
nor had she often a moment to herself. Dinners, balls, 
musical parties occupied the evenings ; luncheons, prac- 
tisings (when they could be managed), Hurlingham 
visiting, shopping, crowded the afternoons. 

‘ ‘ Could I have worked harder were I penniless and 
had to earn my bread before I could eat it ?’ ’ Deen 
often thought. ‘ ‘ This life is becoming quite intolerable. 
Oh, for a few weeks of peace and rational occupa- 
tion !’’ 

Besides her social duties, Deen’ s time was also a good 
deal occupied by Merivale’ s sister and her husband. 
He was anxious that due attention should be shown to 
General and Mrs. Jeffries, but did not care to take any 
trouble about them himself ; so the attentions, great and 
small, devolved on Deen. Unfortunately, Mrs. Jeffries 
chose to take a great fancy to her brother’s wife, and 
proved it by coming to her for advice on all matters, 
from questions respecting the amount of butter that 
should be allowed in the housekeeper’s room to the best 
way to invest a trifle she had saved from her income. 
“You don’t know, of course, my dear; but you can 
ask Horace, for I never have a word with him. ’ ’ 

At first Mrs. Jeffries declared her little nephew the 
dearest, sweetest child in the world ; a lovely boy, and 
196 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


197 


the image of his father ; but perceiving these views 
were not acceptable to Merivale she dropped the sub- 
ject, though she was always kind in her manner to the 
boy. 

It was, on the whole, a relief to Deen when Mrs. Dar- 
rell begged permission to call on Mrs. Jeffries, whom she 
had met at Bombay a few years previously. 

“ I dare say you do not remember me, but jyou are not 
to be easily forgotten,” she said, smiling sweetly upon 
Mrs. Jeffries. And she proceeded to describe the dress 
worn by that lady on the auspicious occasion when they 
were introduced to each other. 

Mrs. Jeffries was flattered, and made great efforts to 
remember the toilette^ but could not. “ It is just the sort 
of thing I should have worn,” she said ; ” but of course 
I had a good many dresses, and one cannot keep them 
all in one’s head.” 

Then she listened to the General’ s account of his curi- 
ous state of health : the affection of the heart to which 
he was subject requiring tasty and nourishing food, and 
those d — d fools, the doctors, declaring that nothing 
ailed him but indigestion, and tried ‘ ‘ to put him on short 
rations, by George !” 

Mrs. Darrell thought she might recommend a very 
rising doctor, a friend of hers, whose system was en- 
tirely rational, and believed that the best guide to treat- 
ment was ‘ ‘ the patient’ s natural tastes. ’ ’ 

The General was deeply interested, and took down the 
address of the rationalist. 

From these small beginnings Mrs. Darrell quickly 
raised a noble structure of intimacy on reciprocal terms, 
— advice and assistance in various directions, dress, doc- 
toring, bargains, books, commissions, company, against 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


198 

drives, dinners, donations of dainties, cards of admission 
to divers and sundry entertainments. 

Thus she was a substantial help to Deen, who re- 
proached herself for her vague distrust of the little widow 
and her inclination to associate her mentally with Becky 
Sharp. 

The first freshness of the season was past, the trees in 
the park looked dusty, the laburnum blossoms had with- 
ered away. Merivale announced that he was obliged 
to run over to Brussels for a week, to confer with a corre- 
sponding bank on a great financial operation, and Deen, 
who was beginning to feel the strain of her trying posi- 
tion severely, said she would go down to the country, 
during his absence, for rest and refreshment. 

“You are curiously careless of society,” said Meri- 
vale. “You do not seem aware of its importance. 
However, please yourself, only pray be back in time for 
Lady St. Ives’s last reception of the season.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, Horace ; I do not wish to miss it. I sup- 
pose you will be here, too?” 

‘ ‘ Of course I shall. ’ ’ 

It was infinitely delightful to Deen to find herself in 
the sweet, quiet country, amid the fresh, dewy green of 
the pastures, the mellowing ripeness of the clover. 

Miss Thorpe and her pupil were radiantly happy, and 
Deen, resolving not to weaken herself by dwelling on the 
dark side of her life, enjoyed their simple early dinner, 
their rambles about the woods and the picturesque lanes, 
round their residence ; the high tea, which Cecil was 
allowed to share ; the tranquil evening, with a book or 
some simpler music than Merivale considered worthy his 
high attainments. How delightfully restful it all seemed 
to Deen ! She was candid enough, however, to acknowl- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


199 


edge that this tranquillity would not always content her, 
and that much was to be met with in town that was men- 
tally stimulating and exhilarating. 

“ I ought to ask the General and Mrs. Jeffries down 
here, ’ ’ she thought, as she sat at her writing-table one 
morning. ‘ ‘ It will please Horace, and not bore me too 
much, though I regret breaking in on our happy rou- 
tine. ’ ’ So she wrote, and received a speedy reply. 

They were much obliged. The General could not, 
however, accept. He thought the new rational system 
which he was trying seemed to be doing him good, and 
he did not like to leave his new doctor ; but Mrs. Jeffries 
accepted with pleasure. Indeed, she felt very dull just 
now, as that kind creature, Mrs. Darrell, had gone away 
to visit a sister, who lived at Boulogne, and Mr. Jeffries 
missed her greatly. 

So Mrs. Jeffries came, and proved less of an interrup- 
tion than Deen expected. She was pleased to drive her- 
self in the pony- carriage, as she used to when she was a 
girl. The present Rectoress, too, was the daughter of 
the old Rector who had ruled in Mrs. Jeffries’s early days. 
So she enjoyed visiting at the Rectory, inspecting the 
schools, finding fault with the mistress and master, pot- 
tering about the hot-houses, and cross-questioning the 
gardener. 

Mrs. Jeffries' had not been at Larch Hill many days 
when, on returning one afternoon from a ramble with 
Cecil, Deen found Sherrard established in the drawing- 
room, in animated conversation with her sister-in-law, 
and evidently awaiting tea. 

“ I hope I am a delightful surprise,” he said, coming 
forward to greet her. ‘ ‘ I have just seen Merivale, and 
he promised you would take me in, and I promised to 


200 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


give you a full, true, and particular account of him. He 
is exeedingly fit and enjoying Paris — I mean Brussels — 
immensely. ’ ’ 

“ I am very glad. He has not written for two or 
three days. When he did, he seemed rather worried 
about the difficulties which have arisen respecting the 
business he was engaged in. ” 

“Yes, you know ‘the fault of the Dutch is giving 
too little and asking too much.’ Well, they have asked 
so much that Merivale has washed his hands of the 
whole concern, and is off on a spree somewhere. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ It cannot be for long, ’ ’ said Deen. “We are bound 
to be at hand at Grantley House on the twenty-eighth. ’ ’ 
“ No one will be there,’’ exclaimed Sherrard. “ St. 
Ives had a bad fall the day before yesterday at polo ; 
they say there is little or no hope for him ; at any rate, 
there will be no Grantley House gathering on the twenty- 
eighth.’’ 

“ I am very, very sorry. Poor Lord St. Ives. He 
always seemed so good-humored and kind. What a blow 
for the Marchioness. They appeared to be on very happy 
terms. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ There is no doubt of that. They thoroughly un- 
derstood each other, which is more than can be said for 
most wedded pairs. ’ ’ 

His tone made Deen look inquiringly at him. 

Apropos q\ gossip, I met Mrs. Darrell at Lille, — you 
know the big station there. She had been staying 
somewhere, and was going some other where. I didn’t 
attend to what she said, I was in a hurry to reach 
Calais, but I was a little surprised to see her; she seldom 
goes so far afield ; can’ t manage it, poor little woman. ’ ’ 
“Oh, I knew she was going to see a sister at Bou- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


201 


logne,” put in Mrs. Jeffries; “an invalid, I think, or 
has an invalid husband. She did not expect to be much 
amused, poor thing.” 

“ Ah! sweet are the uses of adversity. Even invalids 
have their uses,” said Sherrard, with a cynical grin. 

“Mrs. Darrell is a very good, sensible woman,” re- 
marked Mrs. Jeffries, severely. “The dulness of an 
invalid’s life or home w'ould not deter her from doing 
her duty.” 

“ Oh, no, of course not. Let us hope she finds some 
compensation in that thorny path. Mrs. Merivale, your 
husband requested me to inspect your stables and report 
on certain quadrupeds therein. I hope I do not appear 
to you in the undignified character of a busybody.” 

“ By no means,” said Deen, with a smile. “ I know 
nothing whatever of horses, and Horace knows it would 
be useless to seek information from me.” 

“ It must be an immense help to Merivale that you 
are aware what you know and what you don’t. Your 
sister-in-law is appallingly candid, Mrs. Jeffries. Have 
you ever observed it ?’ ’ 

“ Why, Mr. Sherrard, all well-brought-up women are. 
My dear brother would never have married any one who 
was not.” 

‘ ‘ He might have intended to wed only with a para- 
gon of truthfulness, but how in heaven’s name was he 
to find out the truth about any one’s truthfulness.” 

‘ ‘ I am afraid you are sceptic. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I am a profound believer in one or two things, 
among them the refining and stimulating effect of a 
good cup of tea, and here it comes.” 

“ I always think well of men who like tea,” said Mrs. 
Jeffries, plaintively. 


202 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


Sherrard had not got through his first cup of the 
beverage he professed to like so much, when Cecil came 
in joyously and noisily, followed by Miss Thorpe. 

Deen noticed that Sherrard looked keenly at the boy. 
‘ ‘ Go and shake hands with Mr. Sherrard, Cis, and try 
not to make so much noise, dear.” 

The boy hesitated and coloured. 

‘ ‘ I fancy I am not associated with very pleasant rec- 
ollections in the young gentleman’s mind,” said Sher- 
rard, with a grin. “You remember me, sir?” 

“Yes, I do,” returned Cecil, readily, but in a tone 
which implied ‘ ‘ too well. ’ ’ 

Deen laughed as she handed him his allowance of 
milk and water, and he set to with a hearty appetite on a 
pile of delicately cut brown bread and butter. Tea and 
talk were continued for a while. Then Sherrard rose. 

“ As I fear my stay in this paradise cannot extend be- 
yond to-morrow, I shall go to the stables now. Will 
you not lend me your countenance and support, Mrs. 
Merivale ? Then your men will see that I am tempo- 
rarily in authority.” 

Deen hesitated a moment. She disliked the man 
greatly, — a curious antagonism to him had arisen in her 
mind ; but she knew it was unwise and ungracious to be 
too cold to her husband’s special friend, and being com- 
pelled by conscience and inclination to oppose Merivale 
in a great matter, she was bound to be as yielding as 
she could in smaller ones. 

“ Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Sherrard ; but I think 
our coachman and the grooms know quite well that I am 
a complete ignoramus as regards horses and all that be- 
longs to them, though they are delightful creatures. I 
love them as pets.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


203 


She rose as she spoke and resumed her garden hat 
which she had laid on a chair. 

“May I come, too, Mother?” cried Ceal, eagerly. 

“Yes, dear, only you must not go up to that wicked 
grey horse.” 

‘ ‘ He is not so wicked, only you are so easily fright- 
ened.” 

It was a beautiful, still evening, and once outside the 
house Cecil bounded hither and thither with a pet puppy. 
Sherrard looked after him for a minute or two in silence, 
then he exclaimed, “ By Jove ! That boy is a complete 
resurrection. He was the most miserable, pallid, timid 
little beggar I ever saw when I was down here with Meri- 
vale before your marriage. We both agreed he was short 
of brains. Now he is sunburnt and healthy and bold as 
brass. I wonder what Merivale thinks of the change.” 

“Mr. Merivale despaired too soon,” returned Deen. 
“Men haven’t our patient hopefulness.” 

‘ ‘ Despaired, ’ ’ he repeated, with a mocking laugh ; 
“hoped, you mean. Pray remember that I have been 
your husband’s confidant for years, and he would give 
a great deal not to be already provided with an eldest 
son. Merivale is an uncommonly fine fellow, of course, 
but he has his little peculiarities, as regards this boy. I 
don’t quite wonder at his objection to him, though he 
was rather hard on the unfortunate little chap, don’t 
you think so ?’ ’ 

* ‘ I find so much to do in the present that I have no 
time to trouble my head about the past, ’ ’ she returned. 

‘ ‘ I shall do my best to make the child happy and healthy 
now. ’ ’ 

“So it seems. But, my dear Mrs. Merivale, don’ t 
you think your own life would be easier, if you espoused 


204 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


your step-son’s cause less warmly? You know how 
bitterly Merivale resents opposition, and the smallest 
approach to disapprobation. It is a frame of mind you 
cannot understand, but you must know it exists in him. 
Now to be opposed and judged by a wife is peculiarly 
offensive to most men, and I should say was maddening 
to Merivale. You’ll never convert him, — take my ad- 
vice. Let him have his way, — keep the boy out of sight 
and give Merivale his head ; let him suppose you still 
think him as perfect as you did in the honeymoon days. 
That sort of thing never lasts, of course, but men don’ t 
care to admit it. ’ ’ Sherrard stopped abruptly, suddenly 
struck by the complete silence in which she listened to 
him. When he ceased to speak, she laughed lightly. 

“No, such ideas could not last ; no doubt Mr. Meri- 
vale has found out all my many imperfections long ago. 
Now is the time to begin the real loving friendship of true 
marriage, when illusions are chased away by the strong 
light of reality and intimate acquaintance, and we find 
the human nature which underlies our ideals lovable in 
spite of follies and defects. ’ ’ 

“Bravo!” cried Sherrard, with mock enthusiasm. 
“Ye gods, what a model wife. I always envied Meri- 
vale his luck, and now more than ever; you haven’t 
learned yet, no doubt, the extreme lovableness of his 
little follies. This objection to his son is one of them ; 
eh?” 

‘ ‘ My dear Mr. Sherrard, though your old, let us say, 
friendship with Mr. Merivale no doubt justifies his trust 
in you, it does not imply that I, too, should adopt you 
as a confidant. Which of my husband’s little human 
weaknesses attracts me most, I shall keep to myself.” 

“ Is this a declaration of war, Mrs. Merivale?” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


205 


“No, by no means. I am quite ready to be on 
friendly terms with my husband’s friend; but such friend- 
liness does not always imply friendship. It is no fault 
of yours or mine, if we are born too dissimilar to be 
drawn together.” 

‘ ‘ Speak for yourself, Madam. I have been very con- 
siderably drawn to you ever since I had the pleasure of 
knowing you. ’ ’ 

“ How ungrateful of me not to reciprocate,” returned 
Deen, lightly, wishing to change the subject. 

“Yes, it is. For in spite of your dislike to me, I am 
ready to help you in any matter in which you need my 
influence with Merivale.” 

“Thank you,” cried Deen, considerably irritated by 
this speech. ‘ ‘ I hope my own will suffice. ’ ’ 

“ Don’t be too sure. I have been Merivale’ s trusted 
adviser for many years, and I know a great deal more 
than you do. A man like Merivale will always tell more 
to another man than to a wife. ’ ’ 

“ Shall I repeat that speech to him, Mr. Sherrard?” 

“Yes, if you like! I like Merivale, — that is, I am 
used to him, but if he chooses to quarrel with me — why, 
I can do better without him than he can without me ! 
But I am talking like a brute, which I acknowledge I 
am ; so with your leave we’ll change the subject, only 
once more let me warn you : don’ t identify yourself too 
much with that child. Merivale does not forgive small 
things easily, and hereafter the boy will only be another 
ingrate. I am so anxious to contribute to your comfort 
that if you wish it. I’ll tell Merivale I would rather not 
come to the house, because it riles you to see me. ’ ’ 

“You are, indeed, most obliging,” said Deen, per- 
ceiving the threat that lurked in his words. “But 


2o6 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


would that be quite true ? You are an habitu^ who would 
be missed by many. ’ ’ 

“Good. Then we understand each other,” he re- 
turned. 

This sentence brought them to the stables, whereupon 
Mrs. Merivale summoned the coachman, and in a few 
words told him that Mr. Sherrard had come by the 
master’s request to look at some of the horses, as Mr. 
Merivale wished to make some changes in his steed. 

It was with a sense of relief that Been saw Sherrard 
depart the day but one after this conversation, for he did 
not carry out his intention of leaving immediately, and 
during the remainder of his stay he made himself most 
agreeable, to a degree, indeed, of which Been did not 
think he was capable ; still, he did not move the distrust 
with which she regarded him. 

“I wonder if I am too prejudiced against him,” she 
asked herself, as she bowed to him when he drove past 
the drawing-room windows. 

‘ ‘ She may be a good woman, ’ ’ thought Sherrard ; 
“but she is no fool, and more of a true man than Meri- 
vale. Take her all in all, she is as fair a woman as you’d 
meet in a day’s march. I wish ” But even Sher- 

rard did not quite think out his wishes. 

A day or two after Sherrard’ s visit Mrs. Jeffries said 
good-by to her sister-in-law, and the post brought a 
cold, brief letter from Merivale to his wife. In this he 
begged she would return to town, and see to the prep- 
arations for a large dinner fixed for about a fortnight in 
advance. Merivale also wished to be in town, as he had 
a great deal of important business to transact. 

Of course. Been complied ; she hesitated as to leaving 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


207 


Cecil and his governess at Larch Hill, partly because 
the boy begged so hard to go back to town with her ; 
partly because she scarcely felt him safe when away from 
her protecting care. Finally, she took the little fellow 
and Miss Thorpe back with her to Linden Gardens, and 
made due preparations for the arrival of her fastidious 
lord, and the resumption of her strenuously idle life. 

The next serious undertaking Deen planned for her- 
self was winning Merivale’s consent to send Cecil to 
school. The child was beginning to need the wholesome 
influence of companionship with other children, and at 
school he would be out of his father’s sight, naturally, 
and one cause of offence would be removed. She had 
too much tact to open the subject immediately on her 
husband’s arrival. She quietly waited her opportunity. 

Merivale was in rather a better frame of mind than 
when he went away, but still she felt the extraordinary 
coldness which seemed to stretch itself like a sheet of 
ice between them. She knew she did not deserve this 
refrigeration, and she would have been more or less than 
human had it not reacted upon her. Fortunately, Meri- 
vale brought with him some new songs he had heard in 
Paris, and he needed her help in learning them ; this 
production of ‘ ‘ the concord of sweet sounds’ ’ drew them 
somewhat nearer each other. Nevertheless, Deen felt 
with dismay how far they had drifted apart in the last 
two months, — nay, more, she also felt or fancied that 
some woman had stept in between them, for Merivale had 
ceased to be a lover. Was she herself to blame for 
this ? How could she tell. Search back as she would 
she could find no error on her own part, save her refusal 
to join in the scheme which Merivale consciously or un- 
consciously had conceived of suppressing and ignoring 


208 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


his unfortunate little son, and forcing him to become 
what his father wished him to be, — an idiot. 

At present Merivale was greatly occupied with the ar- 
rangement of two dinners, which were to be, he in- 
tended, the final and most remarkable entertainments of 
the season. Into this undertaking Deen cordially en- 
tered, determined that her husband should have no 
cause to complain of want of sympathy on her part in 
what interested him. 

“ I wish you would go and see old Jeffries to-day,” 
said Merivale, one morning at breakfast. ‘ ‘ I don’ t want 
to leave my sister out of both our dinners, but I cannot 
be bored with him. I think a fit of indigestion is about 
due now, and he really ought to stay at home. ’ ’ 

“Very well. I will see how the land lies,” returned 
Deen. “ He was frightfully cross when I was there the 
day before yesterday, which from one point of view was 
a favorable symptom. ’ ’ 

Having accomplished her daily round of shopping 
and visiting, Mrs. Merivale towards tea-time ordered 
her coachman to go to Regent’s Park, and found, as 
usual at that hour, that Mrs. Jeffries was at home. 

“ Pray take a seat, ’m. I will let Mrs. Jeffries know,” 
said the servant, as Deen entered the stiff, formal draw- 
ing-room. 

It was not empty ; some one was sitting in an arm- 
chair near the window, behind the broad sheet of the 
Times. 

On hearing the servant’s voice, the Times vfds thrown 
down and a gentleman stood up. A man of middle 
height, broad-shouldered and bony, exceedingly brown 
in colouring, and possibly about thirty-eight or forty. 
His strong jaw was clean-shaven, and showed a wide, 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


209 


close-shut mouth ; his features were aquiline, and the 
only beauty in his face was a pair of large, soft, dark, 
hazel eyes shaded with long lashes and infinitely ex- 
pressive. 

They stood looking at each other for an instant, his 
face growing graver, her eyes lighting up with a look of 
joyous recognition. Then in a tone of pleased surprise 
she cried, “ It is, yes it is, Douglas, Douglas Hay.” 

He was still silent an instant. Then he said, with a 
formal bow, “Mrs. Merivale.” 


CHAPTER XV 


“Have you forgotten me, Douglas?” she asked, 
surprised and chilled by his tone, as she advanced with 
outstretched hand. 

“ Forgotten,” he repeated ; “ that is not likely. Be- 
sides, I thought it likely I should meet you here, know- 
ing that Mrs. Jeffries is your sister-in-law.” He took 
the hand she offered, again bowing rather stiffly. 

“ I wonder she has never mentioned you to me.” 

“ I have never mentioned you to her.” 

‘ ‘ Why, Douglas, I do not think you are a bit pleased 
to see me.” 

“ Oh, yes, I am ; but I have led a sort of semi-civi- 
lised life, and my manners have grown rusty.” His 
countenance grew softer as he spoke and his speaking 
eyes less cold as they dwelt upon her. “You are look- 
ing well, admirably well. But you are changed, Deen — 
I beg your pardon, Mrs. Merivale. ’ ’ 

“Yes, no doubt I am. Think of all the years that 
have passed since we said good-by. ’ ’ 

She wanted him to talk to her, to express himself 
kindly or unkindly, that she might enjoy hearing the 
sound of his voice again, — the deep, somewhat harsh 
voice she knew so well, that had at moments so much 
unexpected pathos in its changes and intonations. 
“You, too, are changed, Douglas : you look older and 
sterner.” She was charmed to speak his name once 
210 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


2II 


more. How the sight of him brought back her early 
youth, her father; the sweet, sheltered nook of a vicarage, 
where her childhood was cradled and life was so heav- 
enly, so all-sufficient. She felt as those in peril on the 
sea may feel when fancy or the off-shore breeze brings 
with it the sound of a faniiliar hymn, full of an infinite 
peace which the tempest-tossed mariner may never 
know again. 

Her delight in seeing her old lover did not alarm or 
warn her. All the passion and fervour of those delicious, 
painful hours when she had trampled down self and sent 
him from her had evaporated, leaving only a profound 
tenderness which she did not resist, for she felt it was 
absolutely innocent. 

“Well, I am a good deal changed. I have led, on 
the whole, a lonely life. Every now and then fellows who 
were fond of hunting big game came to stay with me ; 
and it was pleasant enough; but practically I was alone, 
for I had no real companion. And it’s deuced bad for 
a man. One grows unsympathetic, especially if you are 
always with people whom you rule. ' My district, Dhar- 
avatra, was among the outlying spurs of the Himalayas, 
and the people a wild, rough lot ; fine fellows, though. I 
liked them and they me. Still, I am certain the life was 
not altogether good. ’ ’ 

“ You are right, I am sure ; too much power almost 
always creates selfishness. Are you going to remain in 
England now ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ No ; the ‘ powers that be’ want me to go back for 
another spell, so I am going ; but I shall not go alone. 
I shall try and persuade some kind-hearted young 
woman to accompany me. ’ ’ 

“You are right, Douglas; and there are such num- 


212 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


bers of nice, bright girls to be found who would make 
your life quite different. ’ ’ 

Douglas laughed. “ It is tolerably presumptuous to 
expect a woman to forsake kith and kin and comforts 
and society and everything for your sake, and be con- 
tent to dwell in the wilderness. ’ ’ 

“ But women have done such things since the world 
began. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ How often have they regretted it ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, that is impossible to say ; some do and some do 
not.” 

“I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, my dear,” 
exclaimed Mrs. Jeffries, coming into the room ; “but that 
tiresome woman you recommended, Madame Felice, 
came quite an hour later than her appointment, and I 
have been ‘ trying on’ ever since. How do you do, Mr. 
Hay ? Very glad to see you. Now, I know you really 
came to see the General, so we will not detain you. Oh, 
so you are an old acquaintance of Mrs. Merivale’s. 
How curious. Dear me, how small the world is. I was 
just going to write to you, my dear Deen. We want 
you and Horace to dine with us next week. I know you 
are overwhelmed with engagements, so name your own 
day. We want you to meet Sir Samuel Tilbury. Rather 
a remarkable man, — a member of Council. You know 
him. I’m sure, Mr. Hay? 

Hay bowed assent. 

“I am sure we shall be most happy,” said Deen; 
“but I must ascertain my husband’s engagements 
before I make any appointment. I will write this even- 
ing.” 

“ We hope to secure you, too, Mr. Hay,” simpered 
Mrs. Jeffries. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


213 

* ‘ I am at your service, and my engagements are not 
numerous. ’ ’ 

“The General would be glad to see Mr. Hay when he 
is disengaged, ’ ’ said the serious man out of livery, com- 
ing into the room. 

“Then I shall say good-morning,” said Hay, stand- 
ing up. “I hope to see you soon again, Mrs. Meri- 
vale, and have a chat about old times. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Mr. Merivale is a very busy man, but I am sure he 
will have the pleasure of calling on you his first free 
afternoon, ’ ’ said Deen ; and even while she said it she 
thought herself overbold to promise so much without 
proper authorisation. 

‘ ‘ Of course, dear. I know how particular Horace is. 
Though he is quite the nicest creature in the world, he 
must not be crossed. But I should like Sir Samuel to 
meet him here. Mr. Hay is rather an important man, 
too. They think a great deal of him in India. Why, 
I do not exactly know.” 

This most unexpected meeting stirred the depths of 
Deen’s heart. Its principal effect was exhilarating. The 
reappearance of her old love (and she had loved him 
with all her soul and with all her strength) could only 
be an omen of good to her. She would redouble her 
efforts to win her husband to what was just and right, 
and also to confide in and love herself. She would like 
Douglas Hay to respect and admire him. How she 
wished he would go into Parliament and build up a po- 
litical reputation, instead of a name for mere taste and 
dilctanteism. ‘ ‘ They say he is such an excellent man 
of business, and politics is only business writ large.” 

That evening, for a wonder, Deen and her husband 
dined alone, in consequence of one of their several en- 


214 THE STEP-MOTHER 

gagements having been cancelled by the mourning for 
Lord St. Ives. 

“Well,” said Merivale, when the servants had left 
the room, ‘ ‘ what arrangement did you come to with 
the Jeffries ?” 

“ Your sister does not think the General cares to dine 
out. Other people’s dinners do not suit him. She would 
like to come to us very much. They want us to name 
a day, if possible next week, to dine with them, — to meet 
a Sir Samuel something ” 

“I know,” interrupted Merivale. “Sir Samuel Til- 
bury, a self-sufficient old bore ” 

‘ ‘ And, ’ ’ she continued, ‘ ‘ a Mr. Douglas Hay, whom 
I used to know long ago. ’ ’ 

“Hay,” repeated Merivale. “Ah, that’s another 
matter. I want to meet him. They say there has been 
a find of gold in his district. Dharavatra, I think it is. 
Rumbold, Marsh & Co. were with me yesterday to get 
me to join a company they are organising to develop 
the mineral resources of the province. It would be a 
good opportunity to get at something near the truth 
(which is all one can expect) concerning the existence 
of gold in his district.” 

“He always seemed a very sensible, straightforward 
person. I know my father had a good opinion of 
him.” 

‘ ‘ If you are free next Thursday, I could manage to 
go,” said Merivale, with unusual animation. 

“Yes, I could dine there ; but we must go on to Lady 
Hillton’s ball later.” 

‘ ‘ Of course ; I dare say Isabella is going there, too. ’ ’ 
Here Merivale rose and rang the bell. ‘ ‘ At any 
rate,” he continued, “write and say we shall be happy 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


215 

to give them Thursday. Call a hansom,” he said to the 
servant who came at his summons. 

‘ ‘ Are you going out, Horace ? I hoped you would 
have stayed at home and practised some of your new 
songs. I have been studying them, and am quite at 
home now. It is so seldom we have an evening to- 
gether. Can you not stay ?’ ’ She came close and slid her 
arm through his. ‘ ‘ I will do my best, ’ ’ she said, looking 
kindly into his face. The sweet, soft mouth was very 
near, and Merivale was not cold-blooded. Moreover, 
these flattering advances from a much admired woman 
had a certain intoxicating effect. He pressed his lips to 
hers. “You can be very charming, Deen,” he said. 

‘ ‘ If only you would not oppose me in a matter of which 
I am the best judge, I would be yours, and yours only. 
Why do you insist on forcing that wretched boy upon 
me. Leave him to his imperfect nature, his idiot ways, 
and you shall know how well I can love.” 

“Ah, Horace, why do you not see how cruel you 
are to an innocent creature ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Cab at the door, sir. ’ ’ 

“ I am coming. Good-night, Deen.” 

More than ever convinced that there was little or no 
hope of reconciling her husband to his offending son, 
Deen pondered long and deeply as to what was best and 
wisest to do. To make Merivale uncomfortable by un- 
compromising assertion of what was right would only 
drive him from her and do the child no good ; yet it 
cost her no small effort to subdue the indignant expres- 
sions which at times rose to her lips. “I had better 
content myself with caring for Cecil’s welfare and happi- 
ness, and keep him out of his father’s sight. He must 
go to school. And how I shall miss him !” She mur- 


2i6 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


mured the words half aloud, and as she did so it flashed 
across her mind with the vividness of forked lightning 
against a background of black thunder-clouds how Meri- 
vale had ceased to interest or attract her. 

His selfishness, his petty vanity, his artificiality stood 
out clear before her eyes, and with sincere reluctance 
she felt her own superiority over the accomplished, highly- 
gifted man of the world who had honoured her by 
making her his wife. The next instant she put aside 
the thought. “ But for his dislike to the poor boy, he 
would be above the average, ’ ’ she told herself. ‘ ‘ And 
this offends me so much that I forget the various good 
points I used to admire. How hard it is to be just.” 

Then, to escape her own thoughts. Been rose up and 
went to talk to Miss Thorpe about putting her pupil to 
school. Though young and gay, she was a sensible girl, 
and had lived among schools and schoolmasters all her 
life ; she was therefore a competent adviser. 

Mrs. Jeffries’s party was small’; as yet her circle of 
acquaintance was narrow, for she was not a person who 
stamped her image on the minds of those who knew her ; 
and, in fact, she was very much forgotten, and had not 
yet made a new place for herself. 

Indian acquaintances, however, are never far to seek 
in London, and these were the chief guests : Sir Samuel 
Tilbury was a distinguished civilian ; Colonel Barnes, 
comparatively a young man, was J home on leave ; a 
young cavalryman, a distinguished traveller, now settled 
in London to write an elaborate work embodying his 
experiences and make a home for his young sister, — 
these, with Mr. and Mrs. Merivale, and Hay, Sherrard, 
and Mrs. Darrell, were the guests. 

Douglas Hay was almost the first to arrive, and found 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


217 


himself watching, with a degree of impatience which sur- 
prised himself, for the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Meri- 
vale, especially for the former. He was eager to see the 
man of Deen’s choice, though he told himself he was a 
fool for troubling his head on the subject. Of course 
he was just a money-making machine. Had he not been 
a successful one Deen would not have married him. 

When, nearly ten years before, she had hurled Doug- 
las into the depths of indignant despair by refusing even 
to become engaged to him, he utterly refused to believe 
that her reason for so doing was that she could not leave 
her father, in failing health, poor, and lonely, and that 
she thought a long engagement unjust, — even more to 
her lover than to herself. No ; she had always been in- 
fernally reasonable, and now she wished to leave herself 
free in case a really “good’’ (in the sense of a “rich”) 
marriage offered. 

For long, in his secluded government position, he had 
watched the ‘ ‘ marriages’ ’ in every English paper that 
came within his reach, until he began to think there was 
a chance for him yet. He was naturally faithful, and 
Deen might have ventured to try him by the test of a 
long engagement. But she did not know the tenacity 
which pervades Scotch blood, so concluded she was for- 
gotten ; an inconstancy she entirely forgave. And Doug- 
las became a sweet, far-away memory, but no more ; while 
he, hoping he scarcely knew what, applied for long- 
deferred leave, and returned to England to find his offend- 
ing idol the wife of a wealthy, well-known man. 

Though the last to arrive, Merivale was far too care- 
fully polite to be late ; and even the General had but 
once “hoped the Merivales would not be late” when 
they appeared. 


2I8 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


Hay’s eyes were arrested, before they could pass on 
to scrutinise Merivale, by the effect his wife produced. 
She was clad in pearly-white satin, draped abundantly 
with delicately fine lace, among which gleamed diamond 
pins and brooches, brilliant butterflies looping up the lace 
festoons over her round, snow-white arms, and diamond 
stars studding the rich brown coils of her hair. Doug- 
las, untrained to the appreciation of grandeur in the way 
of clothes, felt dazzled by this apparition, which wore so 
soft and queenly an air. 

Mrs. Merivale stopped to speak to her hostess, who 
immediately introduced Lady Tilbury, and they stood 
talking together till dinner was announced ; nor had 
Deen a chance of speaking to her old friend, though he 
felt she saw him and was pleased to see him. 

The General limped off with Lady Tilbury, Sif Samuel 
conducted Mrs. Merivale, the rest pairing off more or 
less satisfactorily. 

The dinner was good and well served, but not quite 
up to the mark of fastidious elegance Merivale demanded. 
Hay found himself opposite Mrs. Merivale and next the 
traveller’s sister. 

The first onset over, conversation claimed its share of 
the entertainment, and, the major part of the company 
being Anglo-Indian, the talk turned on Indian affairs and 
Indian society, chiefly from a military point of view. 

Hay was very guarded and silent, contenting himself 
with listening and observing. 

It was something extraordinarily new and exciting to 
be sitting opposite the woman who had exercised so 
strong an influence on his life, at the same table with the 
man who called her ‘ ‘ wife. ’ ’ She was surprisingly the 
same, yet changed, since he thought that without her 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


219 


life was worth nothing. He had come to think this only 
boyish folly, that marriage was but a doubtful good, and 
that his own constancy to a youthful dream was only the 
result of his seclusion from European society ; but here, 
in the refrigerating atmosphere of London life, the old 
intoxication swept through his veins with greater force 
than ever and strung his nerves to an acute degree of 
perception that seemed to him like a sudden access of 
physical energy which doubled his ordinary powers. 
Occasionally he threw in a word or two to intensify 
the argument which soon raged between the advocates 
of the old and new systems of Anglo-Indian rule. Sir 
Samuel upholding the wisdom of treating natives as 
favoured subjects, the General and his soldier guests 
desiring that their ‘ ‘ noses should be kept to the grinding- 
stone. ’ ’ 

Merivale took sufficient part in the discussion to show 
a degree of polite interest, well and neatly expressed, 
and his wife listened to his words of wisdom with flatter- 
ing attention. 

“He has digested a good many Times leaders,” 
thought Hay ; ‘ ‘ but he has no money in the concern, 
and doesn’t care a rap about what happens out there. 
It’s sickening to see his wife listening as to the utterances 
of a superior teacher. Is it real, or the sort of incense 
which it is prudent to burn before the shrine of Mammon ? 
What a high-minded, enthusiastic creature she was when 
she lived with her delightful father, and I thought her 
too unworldly, too absolutely unselfish to be equal to 
the battle of life ! 

“Merivale isn’ t a bad-looking chap,” mused Douglas, 
ceasing to hear the rising voices of the disputants in the 
absorbing interest of watching Deen’s husband; “but 


220 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


he gives me the idea of a first-rate actor playing the part 
of a double-distilled gentleman, — doing it uncommonly 
well, too ; but it’s acting, after all, if I am not much 
mistaken. There’s something watchful in Deen’s eyes, 
something guarded in the tone of her voice. I was not 
conscious of either when we spoke together alone the 
other day. When the fellow isn’ t performing an agreeable 
smile, there is a cruel curve in his mouth. Is she afraid 

of him? She had the bravest spirit once, but ” 

The possibility was so painful to him that he turned 
abruptly to his next neighbour and put some questions 
respecting the last new play at the Criterion, to keep his 
thoughts in order. 

Miss Middleton, though not exactly a pretty girl, had 
an interesting, intelligent face, with kindly grey eyes and 
abundant soft, fair hair ; her figure was graceful, her 
smile more thoughtful than brilliant, and she entered 
readily into conversation with simple, frank courtesy. 

For the rest of dinner Hay tried, not unsuccessfully, 
to see neither Mr. nor Mrs. Merivale. 

The ladies soon left the men to port and politics, for 
the General still clung to the old-fashioned beverage, and 
pooh-poohed the younger men who partook sparingly 
even of light claret. 

Up-stairs in the drawing-room Mrs. Darrell came to 
sit beside Mrs. Merivale with the air of being her most 
intimate friend. 

“ No getting a glimpse of you nowadays,” she said, 
smiling. “Three times have I called in vain. You are 
so much the rage that poor little outsiders like myself, 
who wait for the crumbs that fall from rich men’s tables, 
get none at all. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ These kind of rushes are the result of many acci- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


221 


dents which are quite aplart from one’s own merits. For 
the present I have ceased to belong to myself, but it will 
soon all be over. I quite long to get away, but cannot 
persuade Mr. Merivale to make up his mind where we 
shall go. He is going to build at Larch Hill. I am 
sorry, for I should have liked to vegetate there.” 

” Oh, my dear, don’t talk of vegetating. If you knew 
the process as I do, you would shrink from the mention 
of it.” 

‘ ‘ I think I do know it. But, vegetating or not, you 
are looking remarkably well. You have a charming 
dress, — amber suits you so well.” 

” Perhaps. I like yellow. It reminds me of the two 
things I love best, — sunlight and gold.” 

“You are brave to avow what most people feel, — 
love of gold. ’ ’ 

” Oh, yes, every one loves it, except you, perhaps, be- 
cause you have so much.” 

For the greater part of my life I hadn’t enough, yet 
I was very happy. Come to luncheon with me to-mor- 
row, and we will discuss the question how much wealth 
really contributes to happiness.” 

“Thanks. I shall be most happy. Will you take 
me over to Lady Hillton’s to-night?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Hasn’t Mr. Merivale told you of Graf. Sherrard’s 
scheme? He is going to hire his nephew’s yacht to 
your husband, and they are going to cruise. I don’t 
know where. I wish you would come, and then I might 
be of the party, too. ’ ’ 

“I must wait to be asked,” said Deen, smiling ; and 
she rose to join the traveller’s sister, whose looks and 
style attracted her, and they were soon in what seemed 


222 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


interesting conversation, when the men began to come 
up-stairs in twos and threes. 

Sherrard immediately placed himself beside Mrs. Dar- 
rell, and they continued in apparently confidential talk 
till the party broke up. 

Merivale and Hay came direct to where Deen and her 
new acquaintance were sitting. 

“ It seems* that Mr. Hay knew your father and your- 
self when you were in short frocks,” said Merivale to 
his wife, in a gracious, good-humoured tone. ‘ ‘ I hope 
he will do us the pleasure of coming to dinner one day 
soon, sans cirimonie. I am a very busy business man, 
and cannot manage social civilities as I could wish, but 
Mr. Hay is good enough to promise me a visit at the 
bank, as he can, I think, give me some information 
which may be of great use to me. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I am glad that an old friend of mine can be of use 
to you,” returned Deen, offering her hand to Hay; and 
they spoke together for some minutes when Mrs. Jef- 
fries interrupted them by asking her brother to sing, 
adding that Lady Tilbury had heard so much about his 
singing she was longing to hear him. 

Merivale frowned a little, but after a moment’s hesita- 
tion deigned to consent. Then his sister proceeded to beg 
for a particular song which used to be a favourite with 
both of them, adding, ‘ ‘ The accompaniment is quite 
simple. I am sure Deen could play it at sight. ’ ’ 

“ Deen can play most things at sight,” said Merivale, 
impatiently. So Mrs. Jeffries sailed away, returning 
with some music, from which she took a sentimental 
and rather commonplace ballad, saying, “Don’t you 
remember, Horace, I used to play this for you long ago, 
before I went to India ?’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


223 


“lam afraid I quite forget, but I will do my best ; then 
we must say good-night. Been, will you try this?” 

“Yes. It is very simple,” glancing over it. And she 
walked to the piano. 

It was some time since she had played for her hus- 
band, and directly he began to sing she felt that he was 
not sure of himself, and she, too, became slightly nervous. 
She felt that he was leaning forward over her shoulder 
and did not know the words. Several times she whis- 
pered to him to save him from blundering. He rarely 
attempted anything he had not carefully prepared. She 
had never known him come so near failure. 

This would upset him dreadfully, she was well aware. 
It was, therefore, rather a relief to see that he looked 
more distrait than vexed. 

“The carriage has been here some time,” said Been, 
feeling that her husband would like to quit the scene of 
his unwonted failure. 

“ Let us go, then. We shall be late at Lady Hillton’s, 
and I do not want to stay long. ’ ’ 

The tone of Merivale’s voice as he said this told his 
wife how deeply mortified he had been. 

She almost welcomed the throb of warm sympathy 
with which she listened, and which brought back a ripple 
of her old tenderness for him. Merivale suffering from 
defeat was a very different object from the cold, self-suf- 
ficing Admirable Crichton who never made a mistake. 

She looked at him with kindly, questioning eyes, but 
saw that he did not heed her. 

“ I have promised Mrs. Barrell a seat in the carriage,” 
resumed Been, hesitating a little, knowing that in his 
present mood everything was likely to displease her 
husband. 


224 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


He glanced across the room to where Sherrard and 
the little widow sat together. 

“I fancy Mrs. Darrell would prefer continuing her 
conversation. She and Sherrard seem greatly absorbed. ’ ’ 

“Nevertheless, I must disturb them,” said Deen, 
smiling. 

Mrs. Darrell started up at once, and all three made 
their adieux, and Deen proposed calling in Miss Middle- 
ton, in whom she fancied she had found a kindred 
spirit. 

Then they descended to the carriage and were whisked 
away to Lady Hillton’s ball, which was reported one of 
the best of the season. 

Merivale was strangely silent for the rest of the even- 
ing. 


CHAPTER XVI 


‘*I FANCY you were not exactly in good form last 
night,” said Merivale next day, which was Sunday, as 
he and his wife sat at luncheon, preparatory to driving 
out to an afternoon strawberry party near Taplow. “You 
failed for the first time in your accompaniment. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I certainly was a little nervous. I fancied you did 
not quite make out the notes, ’ ’ said Deen, gently. 

Merivale laughed. ‘ ‘ A clever excuse, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ I 
did not think you were so rus^e^ Deen. ’ ’ 

“I did not know it myself ; really, I took it to be 
that you were not quite well, and that made me uneasy.” 

“Thank you. You may spare your nerves; I am 
never ill. But in case I should be asked to sing to-day, 
let us try over those Venetian barcarolles you play with- 
out the notes. ’ ’ 

“Yes,” said Deen, “ they are great favourites, but, 
Horace, I do think you are too sure of your own strength. 
You are burning the candle at both ends of late, between 
business and pleasure. You look to me not quite so 

well as you did. Your eyes ” 

“ Pray leave my eyes alone,” interrupted Merivale, 
testily. ‘ ‘ They can see through a good deal, I assure 
you.” 

‘ ‘ No doubt, Horace ; only do not let them see double. ’ ’ 
Merivale made no reply, but took out his tablets, 
which he studied for a few minutes ; then, as if speaking 
out of his thoughts, he said, “That man Hay seems to 
me a man of sound judgment, and a keen observer. ’ ’ 

15 225 


226 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ My father thought highly of his abilities,” returned 
Deen. 

“Yes, and he has had a good deal of responsibility. 
I shall be guided to a certain degree by what he says. 
There are some speculators in the city trying to float a 
company for working the gold-mines which, they say, 
exist in his district. What’s this it’s called, ‘ Dhara- 
vatra’ ?” 

‘ ‘ I think so, ’ ’ said Deen. 

“Two o’clock to-morrow he said he would be at the 
office. I wish we had a free day to ask him to dinner. 
I begin to think we have had about enough of the 
season. By the by, I think I can get away for thirty- 
six hours on Wednesday, and I shall run down to Cowes 
to look at a yacht Sherrard wants me to join him in 
hiring, and I begin to feel I must have change and rest. 
What with perpetual racket and constant worry, I begin 
to feel done up.” 

“You must, indeed, want a rest,” said Deen, sympa- 
thetically. 

“ In one direction you might let me have it,” muttered 
Merivale ; then, with a change of tone, “ the phaeton is 
at the door. You had better put on your bonnet. It 
is rather a long drive ; no time for going over songs. ’ ’ 

The following evening, Merivale said to his wife, 
“Your friend Hay gave me some very useful hints to- 
day. I shall know how to deal with those promoting 
fellows now. By the way, I told him you would give 
him a cup of tea to-morrow afternoon. You might ask 
Mrs. Darrell, too, and if you have an opportunity, as 
you are so intimate, you might mention that it is not 
quite prudent to drive down alone to Taplow and back 
again in the dark with so fast a man as Sherrard. ’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


227 


‘‘lam afraid she would not take my hint in good 
part. Then, you know, they are old friends, and, after 
all, if he is fond of her, and I sometimes think he is, 
there’s no reason why they should not marry.” 

“Marry!” echoed Merivale, with angry contempt. 

‘ ‘ Do you think Sherrard would marry ? Certainly not 
an undowered wife, and she — she does not like him a 
bit !” 

“I am not so sure of that, Horace.” 

“We seem fated to disagree,” said Merivale, drily. 

‘ ‘ I must say, you are growing exceedingly self-opinion- 
ated.” 

“Oh, on such a subject as Mrs. Darrell’s liking or 
not liking Mr. Sherrard, one can form no opinion ; it is 
at most a vague instinct, and I am shocked to think you 
consider me self-opinionated ; that means being a bore ; 
one would be more interesting if one was guilty of 
murder,” she concluded, laughing good-humouredly. 

“ It is curious, Deen, how little sensitive you are now. 
/almost hesitated to tell you that you were slightly, or 
rather not slightly, obstinate, and you laugh. ’ ’ 

“You would not like me to be cross because you re- 
buked me ; eh, Horace ?’ ’ 

“You do not understand me,” retorted Merivale, 
and left the room to attend a last performance of ‘ ‘ Tan- 
hauser, ’ ’ from which Deen had excused herself. She was 
very weary. She felt that her husband was drifting away 
from her, and that to buy him back she must sacrifice 
his poor little boy. This was an impossible price to pay. 
Perhaps the worst side of the circle which was closing 
round her was the consciousness that her husband’s 
sympathy and companionship were ceasing to be neces- 
sary to her ; bit by bit his cold vanity and profound sel- 


228 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


fishness were revealing themselves, day by day she felt 
that in return for her ready appreciation, her ardent desire 
to contribute to his happiness and welfare, her eagerness 
to be a true friend and sympathetic companion, he had 
nothing to give. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ If nature has been niggardly to him, ’ ’ she thought, 
as she ascended the stairs to spend an hour with her 
boy’s governess, “have I any right to quarrel with 
him ? Ought I to hold him responsible ? I wish I could 
touch his heart and open it towards his face. How much 
he loses ! How poor his life is ! I must help him in 
some way. ’ ’ 

Miss Thorpe was writing in the bright, airy chamber 
which served her and her pupil as a sitting-room. 

“I fear I am disturbing you,” said Deen, as Miss 
Thorpe rose to receive her ; ‘ ‘ but I want to talk to you 
about Cecil.” 

“No, indeed, you do not ; I am only scribbling in my 
journal ; and I, too, have been watching for a chance of 
speaking to you ; you have been so much occupied 
lately. ’ ’ 

“Yes, frightfully ; but it is nearly over. Don’t you 
think Cecil is looking ill ?’ ’ 

“I do ; and more, he is unwell. Last night he woke 
frequently, and when he did sleep, moaned and tossed 
about as I have never known him do before ; so far he 
has been quieter to-night, but his hands and head are 
burning. He does not eat, but asks for water con- 
stantly.” 

Deen went into the boy’s bedroom, the door of which 
stood partly open. She bent over and felt his brow. 
The child partially awoke. “Mother,” he murmured, 
“is that you? Don’t go away, or Nurse will throw 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


229 

me after poor Kitty. I would rather she did than have 
to stay with her. ’ ’ 

He took her hand and drew it down to his pillow and 
laid his little hot cheek upon it. ’ ’ 

“Yes, my darling, I will stay — in the next room. If 
you call, I will answer.” 

The boy dozed again, and as his hold relaxed Been 
drew her hand away, and went noiselessly back to Miss 
Thorpe. 

‘ ‘ The child is very feverish. I wish you had sent for 
Doctor Barclay this afternoon. What o’clock is it — 
nine ? I will send even now ; ring, please, while I write 
a line.” 

The doctor lived near, and while they waited the re- 
sult of Deen’s note the little sufferer called “mother” 
several times, dropping off to sleep directly she went to 
him. 

The doctor came in person. He examined the boy as 
well as he could, ordered some cooling draught, and 
directed that the patient should not be left alone. 

‘ ‘ Until morning I can hardly say what he is sicken- 
ing for,” said Doctor Barclay. “There is a good deal 
of scarlet fever about, but we must hope the little fellow 
will escape that. I will send you a very capable nurse, — 
at least, I think she is disengaged, — and come in early 
to-morrow morning, by which time the mischief, what- 
ever it is, will most probably have declared itself.” 

Been felt strangely uneasy. She suddenly realised 
that the child had become, indeed, as her own ; that she 
had nothing else to live for ; that if he was taken from 
her, if he died before she could draw his father to him, 
the shade of her husband’s son would perpetually stand 
between them. 


230 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


As Cecil from time to time moaned and asked for 
‘ ‘ mother, ’ ’ Deen kept watch by his bed through the 
short summer night ; sending Miss Thorpe to her room 
as soon as the sun had risen. She hoped that when 
Merivale returned and missed her, he would hear where 
she was and come to see what was the matter. 

Merivale, however, was extremely late, and when that 
was the case he stayed in his own room, either to avoid 
disturbing Deen, or to avoid her questions ; she was 
therefore uninterrupted, and made a hasty toilette to 
receive the doctor, who brought the nurse with him. 

After a prolonged interview, and receiving many elabo- 
rate directions, Deen ascended to her husband’s dressing- 
room, and found him almost ready. 

‘ ‘ Why ! what is the matter ?’ ’ he exclaimed, struck 
with her pale cheeks and weary eyes. ‘ ‘ Are you 
ill?” 

” No, Horace, but Cecil is — seriously ill. The doctor 
has just been here. He fears it is scarlet fever, which is 
rather prevalent and severe just now.” 

‘ ‘ Scarlet fever, ’ ’ cried the father, and Deen shud- 
dered at the strange gleam of hope, even pleasure, which 
came into his eyes. ” That’s deucedly dangerous. We 
had better have Harley to see the boy — and have you got 
a nurse? That’s right, now you had better have some 
breakfast and get out of the house as soon as you can. 
I must be off at once, or I shall be unable to go to the 
bank or do anything. Where shall you go, — somewhere 
out of town ? There’ s very fair accommodation at Rich- 
mond, or ” 

‘ ‘ My dear Horace, I hate to contradict you ; but I 
cannot leave the child. He constantly calls me to save 
him from that cruel Mrs. Raikes, and when I come and 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


231 


hold his hand, he is calm. You must go ; you cannot 
cut yourself off from the world, but — but it is impossible 
for me to forsake the boy. ’ ’ 

“This is downright insanity!” exclaimed Merivale, 
impatiently. “ Even if you were the child’s own mother, 
I would not agree to such folly. I insist on your accom- 
panying me. Go — ^go, my dear Deen, and make your 
preparations. ’ ’ 

“I am, indeed, in a sore strait,” cried Deen, wring- 
ing her hands. ‘ ‘ It distresses me more than I can say 
to oppose you ; but, my dear husband, I cannot leave 
your son. You do not know how necessary I am to him. 
The poor little fellow seems haunted by cruel memories 
of past unkindness, and feels safe only when I am beside 
him. I feel sure that my absence would be an additional 
element of danger.” 

“Danger!” echoed Merivale, in a loud tone, and 
stopped himself. ‘ ‘ I say, you must be ruled by me !’ ’ 
he continued, in a stern but suppressed voice. ‘ ‘ And 
if you delay, it will be useless to leave. I shall not stay 
even for breakfast. ’ ’ 

But Deen kept firm, and, after a rapid exchange of 
arguments, which grew more and more angry on Meri- 
vale’ s side, Deen felt she must close the discussion. 

“You oblige me to seem disobliging and, perhaps, 
unkind. But, Horace, you must understand that I will 
not leave this house until either I take your son with me, 
convalescent, or follow him to his grave ! And I do not 
suppose you will use physical force. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ If you are determined to risk a breach between us, 
so be it. I do not think you have counted the cost of 
this — this outrage to my feelings and opinions. ’ ’ 

“Good heavens, Horace, have you no wish to save 


232 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


the life of your own child?” cried Deen, losing her 
habitual self-control. 

“No, I have not !” returned Merivale, too infuriated 
to heed his words. ‘ ‘ However, if you prefer that 
wretched bastard to your husband, I have no more to 
say. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I trust one day to see you juster and wiser, and 
more disposed to value the unoffending life that, legit- 
imate or not, has been committed to your care. ’ ’ 

His only answer was to ring for his valet and give 
directions for packing and removing everything he might 
need for a couple of months to Mivart’s Hotel. 

Deen, therefore, left the room, but sought him once 
more when he was about to leave the house. She tried, 
in vain, to extract some kind words of farewell. He 
only replied that she had chosen her part, and must 
abide by it. Having said this, he hastened to catch his 
brougham, which was waiting. 

Then, indeed, Deen’s heart sank within her. She felt 
that she had risked her future comfort by this determined 
opposition to her husband, and she sat down to quiet her 
soul and arrange her thoughts before she returned to the 
sick-room. 

Was she right or wrong in setting her will against 
Merivale’ s? After a few minutes’ reflection conscience 
answered ‘ ‘ right. ’ ’ 

She was doing what was in itself right in trying to save 
the child’s life, and certainly some suffering. And, if so, 
she should not renounce her right of judgment at the bid- 
ding of any one, even a husband. The day was gone 
by when blind obedience was part of wifely duty. Were 
it any merely personal matter, she would readily have 
given it up to do him pleasure. But this was different. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


233 


And suppose she caught the infection ; suppose she 
died ; would he or she lose so much ? He would soon 
find a more suitable and more submissive wife, and, for her- 
self ? Life had always been sweet and dear to her ; 

but now, looking earnestly into her own soul, she found 
she clung to life chiefly to be the friend, the protector, 
the true mother of the helpless boy, of whom her hus- 
band was disposed to make a victim. No, she had not 
done wrong, and perhaps some day she might waken 
her husband to a higher and better state of mind. 

Having thought herself into composure and steadiness, 
she went up to the nurseries, and there insisted on the 
young governess returning to her own home, for at her 
age she was more liable to infection than an older person. 

Then the anxious, watchful routine of a sick-room be- 
gan, and, although a trained nurse was at once engaged, 
Deen rarely left the child, finding that her touch, her 
voice, had an extraordinary power to soothe and comfort 
him. 

It seemed very long while he hovered between life and 
death. Then came the crisis, and the angel of life was 
victor in the struggle. 

The extreme exhaustion which succeeded was as 
nearly fatal as the preceding fever. But the constant, 
watchful, loving care of mother and nurse preserved the 
fluttering life, and at last they felt that the grim enemy 
was beaten back. 

During this time Merivale wrote occasionally to his 
wife in rather formal terms, but received a bulletin twice 
a day from the doctor. He preferred that Deen should 
not write to him, as she was constantly in touch with 
infection. 

The crisis past, Cecil soon began to rally. 


234 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ I have an excellent report to send Mr. Merivale this 
evening,” said the doctor, as he took leave of Deen 
about seven o’clock. ‘‘I shall tell him, too, that his 
son owes his life as much to your care, and the extra- 
ordinary, soothing influence you had over him, as to my 
prescriptions, or Harley’s diagnosis.” 

“You really think so?” 

“I do, indeed. His delusions, poor little man, were 
evidently very painful, and directly he felt your presence 
he was at rest. A sense of safety seemed to soothe him. 
I doubt if we should have pulled him through without 
you. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I am thankful I stayed, though I did so greatly 
against Mr. Merivale’ s wishes.” 

“ That was natural enough. Now want looking 
after as much as your patient. You might get away 
about the eighteenth.” 

‘ ‘ Why, that is only a fortnight off. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I know that. The sooner you get off the better. 
I should recommend Westerton. It’s an uncommonly 
bracing place, with fine sands, and there’s a pretty, 
wooded, hilly country behind it. Both you and the boy 
ought to live out-of-doors. I’ll mention it to Mr. Meri- 
vale. I am to call upon him this evening. ’ ’ 

Deen looked forward with joy to a glimpse of the sea 
and escape from the beautiful house which was so asso- 
ciated with sorrow and disenchantment. In spite of her 
just disapproval of much in her husband’s character, she 
was hurt by the coldness of his brief letters. He might 
have forgiven her by this time. Could it be that he 
would have been more friendly had her nursing been less 
successful ? 

Evening was closing in. Cecil had been settled for 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


235 


the night, and Deen had taken a book and lain down on 
the sofa in her bedroom, when a letter was brought. It 
was addressed to her in Merivale’s handwriting. 

Deen held it a few minutes, while she wondered if it 
would be as formal as the last, conjecturing how it could 
be, that in the by-gone days of courtship, those days of 
content and happy anticipation which now seemed so in- 
finitely far away, Horace was the same creature as the 
husband who so resented her own act of self-assertion. 

“No ! He could not be heartless,” she thought, as 
she recalled his many delicate kindnesses, his large liber- 
ality. “Oh, I will win him back. I will use all the 
tender familiarity a wife can, to make him wiser, softer, 
juster.” Cecil was such a dear child, he must come to 
love him. If she could bring that about, what an achieve- 
ment ! It would be something to live and work for. 
As she thought she slowly opened the envelope, noticing 
that he had not used the usual paper with his crest and 
cipher. 

The first words startled her. 

“My sweet Friend, — Your charming letter of 
yesterday should have been answered even sooner, had 
I not been pressed by business, and harassed by home 
troubles. How disenchanting matrimony is — nay, must 
be. Lovers — platonic lovers — alone know the rapture 
of perfect companionship, unsullied by commonplace 
necessities and vulgar topics of domestic business, which 
must be discussed, and respecting which husband and 
wife are sure to differ. How certain I felt that my wife 
was made to be my best, my most sympathetic com- 
panion. And behold ! she inflicts tortures upon me by 
her perverse attachment to that wretched boy, and 


236 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


offends me perpetually by her evident disapprobation of 
my conduct. This unwomanly boldness would disgust 
any man of taste or refinement. How different from 
you, beloved friend ; though wide in mental grasp, you 
respect the opinions of more mature and experienced 
thinkers. Yet you would dare everything for the man 
you love. What would have become of me but for your 
sustaining affection in these last troubled weeks. I fear 
I cannot call on you this evening, but to-morrow I shall. 
I thirst for the consolation of your presence. Strange 
that my wife, who, when in accord with me, was so ex- 
cellent an accompanist, has become uncertain, while 
you, since we have come to understand each other, have 
developed a marvellous power of sympathetic suitability. 
More of this when we meet. A little more practice, and 
that Russian air will go admirably. Looking forward to 
the joy of seeing you, 

‘ ‘ Always your devoted 

“H.” 

As she read this effusion Deen grew whiter and whiter. 
She was, in truth, so amazed that she had to scrutinise 
the writing, and re-read the letter, before she could 
believe it was penned by her husband. He was faulty 
in many ways, but never did she believe him likely to 
undertake one of these semi-platonic love-affairs so at- 
tractive to the artificial and the vain. That he should 
complain of her want of sympathy, her ‘ ‘ unwomanly 
boldness,” was amazing, yet she knew he utterly and 
completely misunderstood her. To him it was incredible 
that affection and the perception of error in the creature 
beloved could exist together. Yet she had hoped but 
a few minutes ago to win him back. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


237 


“How terribly this complicates everything,’' she 
thought, gazing at the letter which she had laid on her 
little reading-table. 

“If he has a woman confidante to hear and sympa- 
thise with his complaints of me, he will be strengthened 
in his resentment against me, and the future will be one 
long punishment. How did this letter come here ?’ ’ 

She thought long on the incident in all its bearings, 
coming to the conclusion that Merivale must have been 
writing to herself at the same time as he penned the 
letter before her, and put the missives into wrong en- 
velopes. 

Then the question arose, what was best to be done ? 
What was wisest and most just? Should she tell 
him that the letter to his unknown confidante had fallen 
into her hands, or should she keep silence, and so avoid 
irritating explanations. It would never do a character 
such as Merivale’ s any good to prove him in the wrong. 
If he believed himself undetected, he would be much 
more likely to retrieve ; explanations would do no good. 
No, she would keep silence even from good words ; she 
would destroy the letter, apd never breathe a word of 
it to any one. But the effect it produced was disastrous. 
It seemed suddenly to break up her home, to separate 
her from her husband ; she was a mere pensioner on the 
bounty of a reluctant benefactor. It was her husband’s 
affection and tenderness which alone gave her the right 
to be mistress of his house and partaker of his social po- 
sition. Then who could this woman be, to whom this 
letter was addressed ? 

Deen reviewed all their acquaintances, and could fix 
on no one. The only approach to a clue was in the al- 
lusion to the playing of Merivale’ s accompaniments. 


238 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


She remembered having heard that formerly Mrs. Dar- 
rell used to play for him, but it was impossible that a 
woman who was on friendly terms with herself, who was 
the intimate friend of Merivale’s sister, and accepted as 
a member of their own social set, could play so base, so 
treacherous a part. Mrs. Darrell was not a woman who 
attracted her, there was a degree of flightiness about her 
which, to say the least, was undignified, but she had been 
very unfortunate, life had been very disappointing to 
her, and Deen had a curious, instinctive feeling that she 
was attached to Sherrard. This seemed in itself a mis- 
fortune, but a sort of assurance that she could hardly be 
co-partner in a platonic love-affair with another, and 
such a different man. 

‘ ‘ I am only wearying my brain to no purpose, ’ ’ thought 
Deen. ‘ ‘ I had better try to banish the whole thing from 
my mind, and keep it a profound secret ; no one must 
ever know. ’ ’ She tore the letter into little bits, and, 
placing it on the tiles of the fireplace, set them alight 
with a match, watching them consume away sadly but 
camly. 

She was surprised at her own composure. ‘ ‘ I ought 
to be very indignant, I suppose, ’ ’ she said to herself. ‘ ‘ Is 
it indulgence or indifference? But this, at any rate, 
mental infidelity does not touch me. Yet life with a 
husband who looks on me as a failure from his point of 
view is a dreary outlook. I feel cruelly alone. What 
is left to me but my poor little Cecil? We are both 
waifs, and the master of the situation gains nothing in 
making us unhappy. How did he come to make so 
great a mistake ? It was not like him.” 

Though the boy was now practically well again, the 
embargo still lay upon the house, and the doctor was 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


239 


most anxious that the young patient and Mrs. Merivale 
should leave it, and taste the exhilarating breath of the 
sea. 

“I saw your good husband last evening,” he said, 
when he called next day. ‘ ‘ Though away from business, 
he was surrounded with papers and in the act of writing 
to you. I took the liberty of advising him to take a 
good long holiday. He had been suffering from severe 
headache, he tells me, and is, I think, a little overdone. 
He talks of taking a cruise to Norway, or up the Baltic, 
in Mr. Sherrard’s yacht. It is the best thing he could 
do. He ought not to enter his own house until it is 
thoroughly disinfected. I have heard of the very thing 
for you and my young patient here. Only this morning 
I had a letter from the medical man at Westerton, an 
old chum of mine, in which he asks me to find a tenant 
for a widowed friend of his who is going abroad for six 
or seven months. She has a pretty cottage ornee close 
to the sea, with garden and pleasure-ground, to be let 
cheap to any one who will take care of it. Let me see, ’ ’ 
pulling out a letter and scanning it, — “aye, here it is. 
Three sitting-rooms, six bedrooms, stabling for a couple 
of ponies, lock-up yard, garden, etc. Shall I leave 
you the letter? Then, if you wish, you can write to my 
friend and make an offer.” 

“ Thank you,” said Deen ; “ I shall send it on to Mr. 
Merivale. I begin to feel very impatient to get out of 
town.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


While Been discussed the pros and cons of a sea- 
side abode, Mrs. Darrell wandered to and fro about her 
little apartment in a state of mind very trying to her old 
servant. 

“Can’t I make you an omelette for luncheon, ’m?” 
she asked. “You have scarcely broken your fast to- 
day.” 

“No, no. I cannot eat ; I do not care for anything : 
stay. Have you any seltzer in the house ?’ ’ 

“Yes, there is a syphon.” 

“Well, give me some with a little brandy. It will 
pick me up.” 

Having imbibed the refreshment, Mrs. Darrell sat for 
a few moments in deep thought. From this mood she 
was roused by a sharp, imperative ring at the house-bell, 
and almost immediately Sherrard came in without wait- 
ing to be announced. 

‘ ‘ Oh, Graf. ! I am glad to see you. I have been in 
such a state of mind.” 

“ Indeed? Well, so is Merivale. I have a note here 
from him. He expected a line from you this morning, 
and, not receiving it, begged me to be his messenger. 
You are to reply at your leisure.” 

“Oh, thank you,” returned Mrs. Darrell, coolly. 
She took the note and, walking over to the window, 
opened and read it deliberately, then she put it in her 
pocket, and returned to a favourite rocking-chair. 

240 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


241 

“And what has put you in such a state of mind, 
Madam?” asked Sherrard. 

“This,” she returned, stretching out her hand to a 
gaily embroidered bag which lay on the sofa near her. 

‘ ‘ I want to know the meaning of this ?’ ’ She took out 
a letter, opened and handed it to him, 

“ From Merivale, eh?” 

“ Yes ; what can it mean?” 

‘ ‘ My dear Deen, — I am glad to find that your ex- 
hausting and most unnecessary vigil is over; I hope with- 
out injury to your own health. As I left the house before 
incurring any danger from infection, it would be very 
unwise to re-enter it again until it is thoroughly disin- 
fected. I have arranged to take a cruise with Sherrard 
and one or two others, and start soon, returning about 
August, when my employes expect their annual holiday. 
The doctor’s decided opinion is that a couple of months 
at the seaside is necessary for health and safety. I leave 
the arrangements as to residence, etc, entirely to you. 
Ask whatever funds you require from Mr. Wilkins, the 
chief cashier. I give you carte blanche. My sister, 
Mrs. Jeffries, tells me she and the General want to go to 
the south coast. It might be well if you joined them. 
This as you like. Should you wish to see me before I 
start, I must ask you to pay me a visit here, and will 
only say that, though I do not think it very safe, I am 
willing to run the risk if it affords you any pleasure. 
Meantime, should you decide not to come, I will bid you 
a temporary farewell, hoping that when we meet again 
we shall manage to exist on a better and happier footing 
than during the last few months. 

“Your affectionate husband, 

“Horace Merivale.” 

16 


242 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“What a connubial effusion,” cried Sherrard, with a 
laugh. “What a tone of cool superiority the beggar 
assumes. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ But how does it come here ?’ ’ 

“Oh, it tells its own story. You surely see that. 
Merivale has put his letter to his wife into the cover 
addressed to his lady love, and I presume vice versa. If 
so, why you are an unlucky little devil.” 

‘ ‘ I was afraid of this, and I did not know what on 
earth to do. I was afraid to write and send this back. 
One never knows what to do with such a man as Meri- 
vale. He misinterprets things, and is so frightfully, 
crookedly disposed to take offence, I waited to take 
counsel with you, Graf.” 

“Well, you must never let Merivale know you did. 
Look here, the sooner this is in his hands the better. 
Sit down and write him a line, — the fewest words and no 
signature. Address him at the bank. You can catch 
the ‘ two-forty-five’ despatch ; and if you put private on 
the envelope, it will be sure to reach him securely ; no 
one will tamper with anything belonging to his lord- 
ship, in his own territory. Just write straight up and 
down, ‘Received last evening, by some mistake.’ No 
one can make anything of that. I’ll go out and post it 
for you. He will understand all about it, sure enough. 
Here, seal it. Have you a common fanciful seal ?’ ’ rum- 
maging roughly among the knick-knacks on her writing- 
table. 

“ Yes — yes — here.” 

“All right. Give me your latch-key. ” He left the 
room hastily. 

In his absence Mrs. Darrell employed herself in read- 
ing the note he had brought her. It was extremely 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


243 

brief ; but there was an enclosure, and, as Mrs. Darrell 
examined it, her countenance expressed satisfaction. 

Sherrard returned in a few minutes, and she slipped 
the enclosure into her pocket as soon as she heard his 
step. 

“ Caught the post?” she said. 

“Yes, all right. He’ll think you despatched it before 
you saw me. To be guilty of a mistake, like other men, 
would be a tremendous mortification to him. And, I 
fancy, it is a good deal to your interest to rub him the 
right way.” 

“No doubt ; but, Graf, this can never be kept 
quiet. ’ ’ 

“ Why? Because his fiery epistle to yourself is prob- 
ably by this time in the hands of Madam ?’ ’ 

“Now, Graf, could you picture Meri vale writing any 
passionate outpouring ? Nothing could hurry him into 
forgetting to dot his ‘ i’s’ and cross his ‘ t’s.’ Why, his 
very improprieties are proper to the last degree. The 
best point in him is his open-handedness. There’s a 
new word for you. His letters are exquisitely platonic, 
— models of composition written in an ice-house, — only 
a wife might not like them, and such a curious, high- 
toned kind of woman as Mrs. Merivale. I fancy she has 
been making it hot for him by this time.” 

“I am not sure. She is rather original, — that is, a 
trifle unnatural. I should not be surprised if she made 
this contretemps an excuse for forgiveness and a recon- 
ciliation, for they have evidently been drifting apart.” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps so ; but is she aware of it ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I fancy she is. Yet, I wonder how Merivale can be in- 
different to so charming a woman, for she is charming. 
Her goodness — I mean what accords with the received 


244 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


idea of goodness — does not make her dull, or even nar- 
row ; and what a figure ; what grace. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Graf, I have always thought you were in love with 
her yourself. ’ ’ 

“It’s her own fault, if I am not. But, recognising 
exactly how she regards me, I am always hovering on 
the border which intervenes between love and hatred. 
There are moments when I could strangle her, when I 
feel the depth of her contemptuous dislike of me. But 
this is mere drivel. I want to know if you can join us 
about the 27th. Of course, you are my guest, for the 
yacht is nominally mine. We could pick you up at 
Harwich. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ While I can be visiting my invalid aunt at Boulogne, 
I may, perhaps, accompany her to the south of France. 
There is very little peace for the dwellers in debatable 
land. I must keep up appearances, which cost me more 
than they are worth. I should do better as a frank, free 
lance. ’ ’ 

“Then, why do you stick to the regulars?” 

‘ ‘ Because — oh, because — oh ! Graf, you know well 
enough why I seek the bubble reputation.” 

“Take my advice, my dear, little wanderer, and think 
only of your own interests. ’ ’ 

“You see, Graf, I try to unite interest and inclination.” 

*******:|c:ic 

Nothing could have been more exasperating to such a 
man as Merivale than such an error as he had made. It 
was calculated to expose him to the ridicule of society. 
Men and women would alike laugh at him. It would 
give his wife the right to complain of him, to smile at the 
lofty attitude he had assumed. He felt, no doubt, how 
the mistake occurred ; he had been writing letters when 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


245 


the doctor came in to give his report, and had just 
finished the two epistles, which had gone astray. He 
was so infinitely disgusted at the honest man’s hearty 
congratulations on the safety of his son, and the devotion 
of Mrs. Merivale to the motherless boy, that he tempo- 
rarily lost his head. 

The result was disastrous. 

Never had he so bad an interval of time as for some 
hours after he guessed that his letter to Mrs. Darrell had 
fallen into his wife’s hands. Every post made him 
quiver with the anticipation of a reproachful epistle, ask- 
ing the name of her rival. 

When, at last, an envelope, addressed to him in her 
small, clear writing, was put into his hands, he blushed 
at his own trepidation on opening it. 

Great, indeed, was his relief to find a few kindly lines, 
asking when she could see him and where. The letter, 
then, could not have fallen into her hands. No woman 
in the world could have assumed that unconscious tone. 
Then, into whose hands had his unfortunate epistle 
fallen ? No woman, at any rate, for, except Mrs. Darrell, 
he had no female correspondent. If any man of his 
acquaintance had chanced upon it, he would never see it 
again, for there was no name or address upon the paper. 
And even if his writing was recognised, most men, such 
as he wrote to, would be quite likely to tear it up and 
consign the fragments to the waste-paper basket. 

After some time given to reflection, Merivale composed 
himself sufficiently to write to his wife almost a duplicate 
of the missive read by Sherrard in Mrs. Darrell’s apart- 
ment ; a trifle less cold, something of the relief he felt 
taking the chill off his soul. 

Deen was quick to feel the indescribable something of 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


246 

renewed friendliness in the careful composition ; so, like 
St. Paul and his companions, she ‘ ‘ thanked God and 
took courage.” She was also thankful that she was not 
obliged to bid him, personally, good-bye. “ Before he 
returns, I shall have arranged about sending Cecil to 
school,” she thought, and set cheerfully about her prep- 
arations for going to the seaside. 

London was now deserted. Deen was overwhelmed 
with eloquent, little notes, expressive of regret at not 
being able to call before the writer left town, and joy at 
the wonderful recovery of her dear boy. So the season — 
an unusually protracted one — was over, and Deen did not 
care to anticipate another. 

Ferndale, the villa selected for the abode of the con- 
valescent, and his body-guard of Nurse, step-mother, and 
governess, whom Deen had recalled as soon as was safe, 
was a pleasant, homely abode. Only a two-storied 
building, it had wide, rustic verandas, overgrown with 
roses and honeysuckle, and provided with shallow steps 
leading down to an exquisitely green, velvet-like lawn, 
which separated the house from a stretch of golden sands 
when the tide was out, and from the little, playful, 
whispering wavelets, and their occasionally big, roaring 
brothers, which played or raged along its margin when 
it was in. This inviting nook sheltered itself under a 
tall headland, which guarded a small bay to the north- 
east, and in so favourable a position the lower half of the 
hill was thickly wooded with a variety of forest and other 
trees. A little, red-roofed village, with an old, square- 
towered, Norman church in its midst, at the other side of 
which new terraces and villas were growing up, lay some- 
what below the site of Ferndale ; and beyond, the shores 
of the bay swept round flatly, but rich in corn- and pas- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


247 


ture-fields, interspersed with woodland, and dotted with 
tiny hamlets, here and there distinguished by spires and 
windmills, the whole encircled by distant blue hills, be- 
hind which, in fine weather, the sun sank out of sight in 
unspeakable glories. 

Cecil had never seen the sea before, and his rapture 
at the fine expanse of water which the windows of the 
cottage overlooked, the sweet, salt, soft air which was 
delicious and life-giving, made Deen feel young again, for 
of late much of her natural elasticity had forsaken her. 

She was glad, too, of being able to give the boy’s 
capable little governess a pleasant change, after the great 
anxiety she had suffered on account of her pupil. 

Her own little circle, with plenty of books and a fairly 
good piano, would have been all-sufficient for Deen, but 
she felt bound to carry out the wish her husband had 
expressed, that she should invite General and Mrs. Jef- 
fries to share the Villeggratura. 

After a week of exquisite repose she wrote the desired 
invitation, which was immediately accepted, and in a 
few days the party, including a cynical cockatoo, a 
rather crabbed ladies’ maid, and the general’s native — a 
Hindoo, not an oyster — attendant. 

It was rather an irruption of the barbarous. A pretty 
little study was given up to the general, and soon re- 
sounded to very forcible language. 

For the first few days Mrs. Jeffries was quite delighted 
with the fresh greenery about, and pleased to drive 
Deen’s pretty cream-coloured ponies about the village 
and adjacent roads. 

“ It is a charming, primitive place, my dear, ’ ’ she said 
to Deen. ‘ ‘ The people do not seem accustomed to 
such a smart turnout as yours. They all stop and stare. ’ ’ 


248 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


At first Mrs. Jeffries was inclined to make a pet of Cecil, 
but when she found that he preferred playing on the 
beach with his governess, or riding his own shaggy 
Shetland pony, he lost ground considerably. Strange 
to say, he found great favour in the General’s eyes. 
That peppery warrior had been highly enraged with his 
eastern servant, and abused him roundly in Hindoo- 
stanee, the cockatoo endorsing his owner’s opinions by 
discordant shrieks. The man, knowing the futility of 
remonstrances, fled from the room with a gesture of 
despair. Cecil happened to be present, and burst out 
laughing at Ahmed’s discomfiture. 

‘ ‘ Why do you laugh, youngster ?’ ’ he growled. 

“ It was so funny to see him run away frightened, and 
cocky screaming after him. Cocky knows you are a great 
man, and likes to be on your side. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Ha ! are you so very brave yourself, eh ?’ ’ 

“ No,” said the child, shaking his head. “ I used to 
be, oh, so afraid of father. I should be terribly afraid of 
you, only I don’t think you would beat a little boy like 
me. Besides, I can speak to you ; but father doesn’ t like 
me, and I was always naughty till mother came.” 

“Ha! father’s a tartar, hey? Don’t you think I’d 
thrash you if you didn’ t behave ?’ ’ 

“I’m not sure. Anyway, whether you did or not, I 
should not like to vex you. You are kind, and,” in a 
lower tone, ‘ ‘ you have so much pain. ’ ’ 

“ By George! you’re a gentleman and a Christian boy. 
Everybody else seems to believe I’m telling lies about 
my sufferings. There’s sixpence for you. I wish you 
were my boy. By Jove, I do.” 

“ Oh, thank you. This is a real piece of silver. I 
never had one before. I must go and buy something. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


249 


Yes, I should like to be your boy, only mother must 
come too ; and mother is always sorry when any one is 
in pain. I will go and ask her to come into the village 
with me, for I musi buy something,” and the child ran 
off to show his new treasure. 

‘ ‘ Deuced nice little fellow, ’ ’ said the general to him- 
self. ‘ ‘ By George ! his father has more luck than is 
good for one man. Money and looks, and a wife 
any one might be proud of, and a son that’ll do him 
credit one of these days. And he’s a mere pippin- 
squeezer, after all, with his elegance and fancifulness. 
A deuced nasty temper. I’ll swear; wouldn’t say a big 
‘ dam’ to save his life. That unhealthy sort of suppres- 
sion is awfully bad for a man, morally and physically.” 
Here General Jeffries screwed up his face into an ex- 
pression of severe pain, uttered a growling kind of 
a moan, and reaching out his hand seized a hand-bell 
that stood on the table beside him and rang it violently. 
His servant came immediately. 

“You d d careless rascal ! Where’s my physic? 

Here’s another attack of pain coming on, as if my vitals 
were being tied up in double knots. Stop ! It’s too 
late for the drops to do any good. Bring me a stiff 
glass of hot brandy and water, hot as the devil, with 
some lemon peel in it. Don’ t keep me waiting. ’ ’ 

In a few minutes the “sovereign remedy” was in the 
General’s hand, and a calmer expression gradually stole 
over his face. 

“ It was a bad twinge, Ahmed,” he said, giving back 
the glass to his attendant. 

“Yes, sir. But if the general sahib would not eat 
curried lobster for breakfast, he might perhaps suffer 
less.” 


250 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“ Nonsense ; stuff. I tell you it’s some special infernal 
fatal disease that none of those dolts, the doctors, can 
make out, so they say it’s indigestion, and try to rob me 
of the few comforts that are left to me. By Jove, I’ll 
bequeath my remains to the College of Surgeons, that 
they may find out what was the matter with me, and put 
every one to shame when they know the brutal ignorance 
and — and cruelty with which I have been treated.” 

‘ ‘ The mem sahib she begs to know if you will drive 
with her to-day ?’ ’ 

“No, I will not. Send down and get me an open 
carriage at the hotel, with springs that will stand my 
weight. I am afraid to step into that cockle-shell of a 
phaeton. You had better come with me, Ahmed. And 
stop ; tell the cook I could pick a bit of fowl stewed with 
mushrooms, and a few truffles ; that’s simple enough. 
Where’s the paper? Now let me have a few minutes’ 
quiet. ’ ’ 

Deen was amused at Cecil’s pride and joy in the pos- 
session of a whole sixpence. She had never thought of 
giving him money, as he had everything that he could 
want. 

“ If it is delightful to have the pretty coin, why are you 
in such a hurry to get rid of it, Cis ?” she asked. “You 
ought to keep it. I will give you a little purse, and then, 
if you are very good and diligent, I shall give you two 
pennies every week, and you might save up till you can 
buy something nice and sensible. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Two pennies every week !’ ’ cried Cecil, opening his 
dazzled eyes at the prospect of such wealth. ‘ ‘ Oh, 
mother, dear ! that will be lovely, but — but the purse ? 
Will you give it to me to-day ?’ ’ 

“ I will, if you promise to put your sixpence in it to 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


251 


keep. Money is rather a precious thing, my dear boy. 
You can do a great deal of good with it, and it is very 
wrong to waste it. Come along, let us go to Mrs. Tap- 
son’s” (a Berlin wool-shop, where a variety of gen- 
erally useless things were to be found), ” I dare say we 
can get a purse there. ’ ’ 

“Yes, oh, yes, mother dear. Shall I ask Miss 
Thorpe to come ?’ ’ 

“No, my love; Miss Thorpe is writing a letter for 
me. 

Been put on her garden hat and started for the red- 
roofed village ; Cecil and a big black retriever capering 
gaily sometimes before, sometimes beside her. 

The choice of a purse to hold Cecil’s present and pros- 
pective riches was difficult, so many different kinds were 
offered. At last, Mrs. Merivale solved the problem by 
suggesting a money-box with a lock and key. This was 
Cecil’s ultimate choice. This important business occu- 
pied them till luncheon time, and Deen hastened home, 
fearing to offend the General by committing the deadly 
sin of unpunctuality. 

As they passed the door of the chief hotel, a wide, 
two-storied, ivy-covered building with projecting win- 
dows, and white, wooden balconies, a gentleman was de- 
scending the shallow steps which led to the entrance, 
above which swung the sign of ‘ ‘ The Crown. ’ ’ 

He turned in the direction from which they were 
coming, so met them face to face. 

“ Douglas,” cried Deen, her eyes lighting up. 

“Mrs. Merivale,” he returned, lifting his hat, and 
evidently less surprised than she was. 

“ I am very glad to see you ; but what has brought 
you down here ?’ ’ 


252 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“You see, a good many years in India have rather 
lowered my general tone, so I was advised to try a few 
weeks at the seaside, and hearing my old friend. Gen- 
eral Jeffries, was here, I came down last night. Nice 
primitive place. Very glad to see you looking better 
than I could have hoped, after your long spell of nursing 
and anxiety. Is this the young patient ?’ ’ holding out 
his hand to Cecil, who gave his smiling, highly pleased 
at being noticed. 

“ He’ll be uncommonly like his father later on,” said 
Hay, looking attentively at him. 

“Yes, / think so,” returned Deen, laying her hand 
caressingly on the boy’s shoulder. “You had better come 
back with us to luncheon. The General and Mrs. Jef- 
fries are staying with me, and Mr. Merivale has gone on 
a cruise along the coast of Norway, intending to visit 
the chief fiords, and make excursions into the interior. ’ ’ 
“ I know. I saw him the day before yesterday. In 
fact, I have seen him pretty frequently during your se- 
clusion with this young gentleman. ’ ’ 

“Indeed?” said Deen, a little surprised. Knowing 
both men as well as she did, she was at a loss to guess 
what could possibly have drawn them together. They 
were now walking towards Ferndale, Deen feeling 
a little startled at the lightness, the sudden sense of life’s 
sweetness, which seemed to inundate her heart. 

“You see,” Hay was saying, “ I have been helping 
your husband to save some city simpletons — for there 
are a good many among the shrewd business men of 
‘ famous London town’ — from being victimised by a 
bogus company got up to work supposed gold veins 
among the hills in my district. I know more about the 
matter than almost any man in England, at any rate. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


253 


Having been a good deal interested in the tracings of old 
diggings myself, I made special enquiries from a special 
friend of mine ; he was the superannuated chief of a hill 
tribe, had been an awful ruffian, I believe, but was now a 
saint, and, if all one heard was true, something between a 
hundred and a hundred and twenty years old, a most in- 
teresting old blackguard. He told me the whole gold 
story. The metal found in a sort of pocket near my place 
had been washed down by a mountain river, or rather 
torrent, probably the higher regions whence the waters 
came had considerable auriferous deposits, but they were 
embedded in hard rock, and beyond the limit of perpetual 
snow. I felt it my duty, therefore, to quash the attempt 
as completely as I could. Your husband backed me ; 
he is a very clear-sighted man. ’ ’ 

“Yes, he is very capable, ’ ’ echoed Deen. ‘ ‘ So much 
misery is caused by these hasty attempts to grow sud- 
denly rich.” 

‘ ‘ And riches do not supply every need, eh, Deen ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Ah, no ; but they can do a great deal. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I must say there was a time when I would have bar- 
tered my soul for cash. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That mistake did not last long, Douglas, I am sure, ’ ’ 
she said, looking up to him with the thoughtful, trustful 
eyes he once thought the loveliest in the world. “ I 
think you are one of those that believe a soul is indeed 
too precious to be paid for.” 

“ My beliefs drifted hither and thither for a long time, 
but they are now taking a more permanent form. How 
strange it is to be walking beside you once more. ’ ’ 

“ Yes ; and, oh, so pleasant,” cried Deen, frankly. 
Hay looked at her gravely, even sternly. They had 
now reached the house, and in the window of the study 


254 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


descried the tall, thin figure of the general, evidently on 
the lookout. He suddenly raised his hand in military 
salute when he perceived Hay, and disappeared. By 
the time they had ascended the door-steps he was in the 
hall to greet them. 

‘ ‘ Hay, my dear fellow, I am delighted to see you. 
Thought you had gone off abroad somewhere. Mrs. 
Merivale, luncheon was quite ready just five minutes 
ago. Come along. Where did you pick up Hay?” 

Mrs. Jeffries was less cordial in her greeting of the new 
arrival ; she rarely adopted her husband’s friends. ” The 
General always likes such rough sort of people,” she 
said, in excuse. Nevertheless, there was plenty of lively 
talk at luncheon after. The General felt obliged to use 
the carriage he had sent for, and, as Mrs. Jeffries had 
promised to call on some friends she had discovered at 
some distance from the village, Deen felt herself bound 
to accompany her guest. The offer of her company put 
the General in a good humour. Finally, Cecil invited 
Hay to help him to sail a beautiful large ship his aunt, 
Mrs. Jeffries, had given him, and, somewhat to Deen’s 
surprise. Hay accepted. He did not give her the idea of 
a man who would have patience with children or interest 
himself in them. It was very good of him, nevertheless ; 
and, wishing to acknowledge it, she said, ‘ ‘ If you have 
nothing better to do, Mr. Hay, will you dine with us to- 
day?” 

Hay accepted the invitation willingly, and they all went 
their respective ways. 

On Deen’s return from her airing she found that. Cecil 
and his governess were still absent. Before she had 
reached her room more than a few minutes a knock at 
her door announced the wanderers’ return. Enter Cecil, 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


255 

while Miss Thorpe, who was behind him, asked if she 
might come in. 

“Yes ; certainly.” 

“Oh, Mother, we have had such a good time !” cried 
Cecil, whose cheeks began to look brown and rosy. 
“We went out in old Cringle’s boat, and Mr. Hay tied a 
string to my ship, but let her go quite loose. Oh, she 
sailed so beautifully ; and when Mr. Hay changed her 
helm she obeyed immediately. Old Cringle said he 
never saw a toy boat like it, and the man that made her 
might build a yacht for the Queen. Mr. Hay knows all 
about ships and everything. ’ ’ 

“I was surprised, I must say,” added the governess. 
“ I did not expect such a man as Mr. Hay (of whom I 
feel a little afraid) would be so nice and kind. He is 
always grave, you know, but so interested, so in earnest 
about everything he does, that Cecil felt it was all real 
work ; indeed, so did I. ’ ’ 

“Yes, and he is coming to-morrow to see my pony,” 
added Cecil ; ‘ ‘ you know he is a little lame. And I 
asked him to lucheon, but he cannot come.” 

“ Mr. Hay has just gone back to the hotel to dress,” 
said Miss Thorpe. “Come, dear; you must change 
your things.” 

“ I am so glad you have been happy, Cis,” said Deen, 
stroking back his hair and looking tenderly into the 
boy’s bright face, remembering what a frightened little 
scarecrow he was when she first saw him. “Go and 
make a good tea ; eat plenty of bread and butter and 
cold chicken ; then away to bed, to be well and strong 
for another happy day. God bless you, my boy !” 

Cecil kissed and hugged her. “You will come and 
see me in bed, won’t you?” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


256 

“Not to-night. I have visitors, you know; so you 
must do without me.” 

“ Give me another kiss, then. Good-night, Mother 
dear !” And Cecil went off cheerfully enough, followed 
by Miss Thorpe. 

Deen’s eyes were moist as she threw aside her hat and 
sat down in the window to enjoy the refreshment of si- 
lence, broken only by the slumberous murmur of the 
softly advancing tide and the backward swish of retreat- 
ing water. 

‘ ‘ What would have become of that child if a merciful 
God had not sent me to his help ! How he has crept 
into my heart. I never thought I had any maternal 
instinct. I have never wished for children ; yet now that 
boy seems all I have left to live for ; and he is sufficient. 
My husband has, I fear, forsaken me. He may return ; 
and I will welcome him, but I can never feel for him as 
I did. I can never recover the disenchanting knowledge 
of the real man. Am I justified in this? Can he help 
himseU ? Can I help him ? Am I, for all the long years 
which lie before us, to be forever on my guard, watchful 
not to offend, not to quench the smoking flax of hopeful 
tendencies, careful to encourage the germs of kindliness 
towards his son if they ever show, unremitting to procure 
justice in the treatment and advantages for the innocent 
offender, and all the while to be isolated from human 
help and sympathy myself? No word of complaint, 
no request for counsel must cross my lips, lest I betray 
the errors and weakness of the man to whom I have 
sworn fidelity ! It is a hard task. Can I accomplish it ? 
Perhaps ! Strength comes with exercise, and I must 
seize all the relief I can. If — if I can bring up that dear 
boy to be a brave, truth- telling, useful man, I shall be 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


257 

amply rewarded. I do not care for his being brilliantly 
successful. And he will love me. Perhaps ” 

Here the sound of the dressing-bell broke in upon 
her meditations, her maid came into the room, and Deen 
applied herself diligently and successfully to the duties 
of her toilette. 

Dinner with General and Mrs. Jeffries was usually a 
sort of running fight. Whatever the former wished to 
eat, Mrs. Jeffries disapproved of and tried to dissuade 
him from, while both appealed in support of their opin- 
ions to the unfortunate ‘ ‘ native’ ’ who always waited on 
the ‘ ‘ general sahib, ’ ’ and was wellnigh distracted in 
his effort to corroborate both. 

Deen was less bored by this performance than usual, 
for she perceived that under his cool, grave exterior Hay 
was immensely amused by the scene, and she felt the 
homorous side of it more keenly than ever she did 
before. 

Then came a brief, pleasant moment or two, when she 
kept Hay company on the veranda, while he smoked a 
cigar, after which came a rubber, then the General called 
for Ahmed, and retired triumphant and cured of every 
fleshly ill for the moment by conquest of a shilling from 
his antagonist. 

The few succeeding days were chilly and misty, so 
Cecil’s rides and rambles were considerably curtailed. 
The tedium of this temporary imprisonment was light- 
ened, however, by an unexpected development of affec- 
tion on the part of the general. 

“The poor little chap will be moped to death,” he 
exclaimed ; ‘ ‘ get me a backgammon board and dice. 
Come here, Cis, my boy. Would you like to learn back- 
gammon ? 

17 


258 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


“Yes, if you please, ’ ’ said Cis, rather ruefully. “You 
mind your eye, attend to me, you’ll beat me yet, and 
win sixpence. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That is the only point on which I venture to inter- 
fere, my dear General,” said Deen, who was assisting to 
set out the men. “ You must not play for money, only 
for honour and glory. ’ ’ 

“Ah, Madam. It’s not for me to say you nay. 
Now, youngster, look here !” and he began his instruc- 
tions. 

Fortunately, Cecil took an interest in them, and, being 
of a somewhat mechanical turn of mind, he picked up 
the game. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


This spell of wet weather, however, did not last long, 
and September opened with blue skies and golden sun- 
shine. 

It became a matter of course that Douglas Hay 
dropped in after luncheon to chat with the General, to 
help Cecil to sail his boat, to teach him to jump his 
pony over small obstacles, about the fields, or the by- 
roads, or set on the bench with Deen and the boy’s 
governess, while Mrs. Jeffries took possession of the 
pony carriage, and drove about paying visits, for she 
made various new acquaintances through the former 
friends she had discovered in the neighbourhood. Mean- 
time Deen was not a little wounded by her husband’s 
rarely broken silence, though she said she did not ex- 
pect many letters, as they would be a good deal at sea. 

At this time General Jeffries was engaged in writing 
his reminiscences, a happy thought suggested to him by 
Deen, who pitied the old man’s want of occupation ; 
since he had thus made himself some regular work, he 
complained less, and seemed really better. He some- 
times asked Hay to look at his account of this or that, 
and to say what he thought, and Hay gave the best 
advice he could with much sincerity. 

One morning, after a longer stance than usual, the 
General begged him to stay to luncheon, and Deen, 
coming in at the moment, seconded the invitation, so they 
all went in to luncheon together, much to Cecil’s joy. 

259 


26 o 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


The child chattered away, asking many questions, till 
Deen thought it right to check him gently. 

“ Poor dear,” she thought. “ It will be hard times 
for him when Horace comes home, and he must go into 
hiding once more.” The thought had scarcely passed 
through her brain when Mrs. Jeffries, who had been 
speaking of the vagaries of a high church curate in the 
neighbourhood and the annoyance he had caused, sud- 
denly interrupted herself. ‘ ‘ I had a letter from Lady 
Macgregor this morning, Deen ! She says she met 
Horace at Copenhagen, and desires me to say he was 
looking very well. They seem to have a nice little 
party, though she was not quite sure who was host. 
That Mr. Sherrard was there, and Lady Gwendoline 
Lawrence, and Captain Vigors, of course, and, to my 
great surprise, Mrs. Darrell, whom I imagined away 
with her aunt to drink the Contrex4ville waters. I won- 
der if it really was Mrs. Darrell ? It was such an un- 
likely thing that she should be on board a yacht when 
we all thought she was with her aunt. Did Horace 
tell you she was to be of the party ?’ ’ 

“No,” returned Deen, guardedly, while she kept her 
eyes fixed on a peach she was peeling. ‘ ‘ His letters 
are very brief, and the party is really invited by Mr. 
Sherrard ; he may not have thought of mentioning the 
guests. I hope he will have a pleasant holiday, for he 
has had a dreary time all the while he was banished from 
his own home.” 

As she finished speaking Deen felt compelled to raise 
her eyes, and met Douglas Hay’s, — only for an instant. 
He looked away immediately ; but that lightning flash 
told her that Hay knew she was neglected ; that her 
“prince charming” of a husband was content to prolong 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


261 

his absence after their long and trying separation. It 
was a stab she felt more than she expected, a humiliation 
she did not deserve. She wished Hay had not been 
present. He was the last man she would have liked to 
know the true state of affairs. 

Meantime Mrs. Jeffries was babbling on about the 
second-hand scandal she had heard of Lady Gwendoline 
and Sherrard, till at last, to Deen’s relief, Cecil asked if 
he might get down, and every one made a move. 

When they reached the drawing-room the General 
passed on through the window and settled himself to 
smoke. Cecil went off to the beach, and Mrs. Jeffries — 
having explained at some length that she was going to 
dine and sleep at ‘ ‘ The Beeches’ ’ and would probably 
remain till the following day ; that she was so sorry 
the General could not accompany her, but, as he felt a 
little better, he must not take liberties, etc. — wished Hay 
good-by, and went off to prepare for her drive. 

“ Do you remember how fond my dear father was of 
writing? I mean writing for the magazines?” asked 
Deen. 

‘‘Yes, of course. I don’t think I ever read any of his 
contributions. In fact, I was not at all literary in my 
tastes, as you know, in those days.” 

‘‘ I do, indeed. You used to think me quite too much 
of a bookworm. I must show you this charming edition 
of my father’s essays.” Deen rose and brought over a 
beautiful volume in dark green morocco and handed it 
to him. ‘‘Mr. Merivale took the trouble to collect all 
these essays from various magazines, and had them pub- 
lished at his own expense, I suspect. I was greatly 
pleased, as you may imagine ; they will not be quite 
forgotten now. Would you care to take this with you 


262 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


to look over ? My father has put so much of himself in 
the pages, it will be like renewing your acquaintance 
with an old friend. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Ah ! if I could. Anyhow, I am not quite so great 
a dolt as I used to be. Nothing like solitude for teach- 
ing you the value of books. I shall enjoy reading this. 
He opened it and glanced at the title-page reading, — 

“ ‘ Geraldine Vesey.’ Then you had this before you 
were married ?’ ’ 

“Oh, yes ; before I was engaged.” 

‘ ‘ It must, indeed, be very precious to you, ’ ’ said Hay, 
holding the book open in his hand and keeping his eyes 
fixed on the page, while he thought ‘ ‘ How ingeniously, 
how delicately she has shown me that there was a strong 
link of sympathy between her husband and herself at 
one time. What *an unspeakable idiot he wdll be if he 
lets her drift away. How did so sincere, so natural, a 
woman come to believe in such a piece of petrified per- 
fection. He must be, he is, a source of cruel disap- 
pointment, or I am greatly mistaken. His life is one 
long piece of public performance. They can have noth- 
ing in common. I wish I could draw her on to speak 
confidentially, even for once ; it would rest her heart. 
Oh ! my God ! if — only if !” 

“ ril take this precious book back to the inn, and 
then I’m going for a cruise with Cecil’s ally, old Cringle. 
There’s some very pretty cliff scenery round the head- 
land to the east here. I wish you and the boy and Miss 
Thorpe would come with me for a sail one day alone 
there ?’ ’ 

“We shall be very pleased to do so, only I cannot 
always leave my guests. As soon as they leave I shall 
be free, only you, too, will be gone, I suppose?” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


263 

“ I have no desire or intention to leave yet awhile. 
Next month I have promised to meet Middleton and his 
sister in Scotland. ’ ’ 

Then he said good-morning, and departed. 

Deen had been greatly struck by hearing that Mrs. 
Darrell was one of the party on board Sherrard’s yacht. 
She was by no means disposed to think evil, and had 
her husband or his friend or Mrs. Darrell herself spoken 
openly of her intention of sharing the cruise, she would 
not have seen anything suspicious in the matter, but this 
half-concealment worried her. She had hoped so much 
— as she always did when Merivale was out of sight — that 
things would go better when they met again. To this 
end she was even now planning with Miss Thorpe to send 
Cecil away to school. Her brother had a preparatory 
school near Brighton, and had lately lost his wife. The 
widower had asked his sister to come and act as matron 
to the school. And Deen thought what a good oppor- 
tunity it was to settle Cecil for the next three or four 
years, until he was ready for Eton or Harrow. She had 
written to her husband and only waited his permission 
to settle the matter. How dreadfully she should miss 
the child. How clearly she saw that she had nothing 
else to cling to. Would he grow up returning her love, 
as if she had been indeed his mother ? She scarcely hoped 
so ; the actual blood tie, mysterious as it is, is wonder- 
fully strong. Lacking it, there is rarely so great a prob- 
ability of holding a child’s heart. 

By this time she ought to have had an answer from 
Merivale, and also some word respecting his own return. 

The next day the General declared himself much bet- 
ter than usual, and offered to take a walk with his hostess. 

They strolled on the beach together, watched Cecil at 


264 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


play, threw sticks into the water for Don, a large New- 
foundland dog, to swim for, and idled about in regular 
seaside fashion, after which the General proposed going 
on to see Hay, and asking him to dine with them. Mrs. 
Merivale agreed, but excused herself from accompany- 
ing her guest on the well-worn plea of writing letters. 

Deen had not many correspondents, still there were a 
few she never neglected. After a short letter to Meri- 
vale, in which she begged for a reply to her last and 
news of his health, she wrote at greater length to Lady 
Hillton, and then comforted herself with an interesting 
critical paper in the Niruteenth Century^ till it was time 
to dress for dinner, when she found Hay waiting, her ap- 
pearance in the drawing-room. 

It was remarkable that General Jeffries was almost 
always better in health and spirits when Mrs. Jeffries was 
absent : on the present occasion he talked in a lively 
fashion during dinner of hunting and fighting, and told 
stories of Eastern character, encouraged by Deen’s 
kindly interest, frequently concluding his speeches with an 
interjectional, ‘ ‘ By Jove, P 11 put that in my book. ’ ’ The 
book, in short, formed the staple of the conversation. 

When they moved to the drawing-room a glorious 
harvest moon was bathing sea and shore, woodland and 
hillside, in silver light, and tempted them out on the 
balcony, where they sat for a short time speaking at in- 
tervals, and soothed by the tranquil beauty of the scene. 
Suddenly the General sneezed loudly. 

“ By George !” he cried, “ that is notice to quit. I’ll 
go in and go to bed, faith. I’ve been out longer than 
usual, and I am inclined for a jolly good snooze. I want 
to be early to-morrow, too ; talking with you^ Hay, 
primed me for my book.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


265 


“ I am sure it will be a great success, my dear Gen- 
eral,” said Deen, stepping back into the drawing-room 
with him to shake hands with him and say good-night. 

‘ ‘ By George ! I begin to think I am a clever old 
chap, and if only I can keep clear of this infernal indi- 
gestion, ril do. Good night.” 

And the robust invalid marched off to bed. 

‘‘Your idea was a positive inspiration,” exclaimed 
Hay, laughing. ‘ ‘ I fancy want of occupation is at the 
bottom of much ill health.” 

‘‘lam sure of it, ’ ’ she returned. 

There was a pause ; Hay threw away the end of his 
cigar ; Deen went over to the piano, intending to close 
it. 

‘ ‘ Do you never play now ?’ ’ he asked. 

‘‘Yes, I play a good deal. But neither the General 
nor Mrs. Jeffries care for music, so I do not play in the 
evening. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I almost forget what music is like. I remember sit- 
ting enraptured while you played old Irish and Scotch 
airs to your father. Will you be so heavenly kind as to 
play some for me now ?’ ’ 

Deen laughed softly and sat down at the piano. She 
did not know how long nor how exquisitely she played, 
air after air, some hackneyed, some rare, and all as if 
her soul was in the tips of her fingers. 

At last she paused ; all was so profoundly still, charged 
with electric feeling, that a shiver ran through her frame. 

‘‘ Have you fallen asleep, Mr. Hay?” she asked, as- 
suming a light tone. 

“No,” said a deep, harsh voice from a dark corner, 
where Douglas Hay had ensconced himself, ‘ ‘ I am 
awake and living keenly, painfully, in the past. Do you 


266 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


remember the vicarage drawing-room, looking out over 
the little lake that made everything so picturesque and 
damp ? How you used to play in the dusk, a sort of 
undercurrent of melody, while your father talked about 
poetry and art, and lots of things far out of my reach, 

while I Ah ! those were delicious hours, and you — 

you were happy, too. ’ ’ 

“Yes, so happy.” 

“You know, I thought you the most unworldly of 
human beings then; but that was a long time ago. Been.” 

‘ ‘ More than nine years ; and I was very unworldly, 
was I ?’ ’ 

“You seemed so. At one time I was sure of it.” 

‘ ‘ Are you not sure now ?’ ’ 

“ No, I have ceased to be sure of many things, and” 
— he stopped abruptly, then continued — “and I am 
more uncertain of your worldliness than I was. ’ ’ 

“I am a very imperfect character, Mr. Hay, but my 
own heart does not accuse me of worldliness.” 

“ If I misunderstood you, I have paid dearly for my 
mistake,” he said, in a low tone, and there was a long 
pause. When Been spoke it was in a different tone and 
manner. 

^ ‘ Bon’ t you think Cecil is looking wonderfully bright 
and well ?’ ’ she asked. 

“Yes, wonderfully. He is a very promising boy. 
Why does Merivale fancy him deficient?” 

“ Has he said so much to you?” cried Been, in some 
surprise. 

“ I scarcely know how much or how little he said, but 
that is the impression he gave me. In short, that you 
were wasting your time on him.” 

“Mr. Merivale was misled respecting him, and it is 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


267 

not always easy to obliterate false impressions ; but I 
hope to prove that my boy — I have quite adopted him — 
is capable of being a good, useful, happy member of 
society. ’ ’ 

“ It will be a blessed piece of work. All success to 
you, dear old friend. Forgive this freedom of speech.” 

Been smiled and sighed. “It is natural in a mo- 
ment like this, which seems given to memory. I am 
anxious to send Cecil to school ; he is too softly treated 
here. I hope Mr. Merivale’s next letter will bring his 
sanction to my plan.” 

‘ ‘ When do you expect Mr. Merivale ?’ ’ 

“ Some time next month. He cannot stay away much 
longer. ’ ’ 

“I must say good-night, Mrs. Merivale. My best 
thanks for your music. It made me feel like my old 
self too much. Will you let your boy come out with me 
to-morrow ? I am going to look at the remains of an old 
church a few miles off, and a drive with me would be a 
change for him.” 

‘ ‘ A very pleasant change. But let us all go together. 
If you will drive the dog-cart. Miss Thorpe, Cecil, and 
myself can enjoy the excursion.” 

“An immense improvement on my suggestion.” 

The time for starting was agreed upon, and Hay said 
good-night. 

He did not go straight to his inn, however. The 
beach, the shimmering water, the deep blue sky, the 
lovely, silver moonlight were too attractive, and he 
walked slowly away towards the abrupt cliffs which fenced 
the headland against the more open sea. 

‘ ‘ What I have lost — what I have lost through doubt 
and impatience,” he thought. “ A lovely, gracious 


268 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


woman, tender and sweet and strong. All because her 
love and duty linked her too closely to her father to 
permit of her leaving him for a lover. How intensely I 
loved her, how unjustly I judged her. Had I waited 
and trusted, things might have arranged themselves. I 
might have known such bliss as I can never again have 
a chance of ; and she, did she love me well ? I am 
not sure, I was so infernally jealous. Had I known she 
loved me, I should have been a better man ; perhaps a 
less hard and less successful one. Oh, my sweet love, 
how could I have left you in anger, and made life hard 
for you, for you did love me. And now, your lot is not 
happy. My God, to think of such a man as Merivale 
calling you wife ; a glacial creature with no higher ambi- 
tion than a reputation for small perfections and excellent 
taste. 

‘ ‘ Her strong vitality will, assuredly, carry her 
through this bad bit of her road ; but not without 
aching, weary feet, a sad, disappointed heart, and we 
might have known the ineffable delight of life and love 
together. 

‘ ‘ I will, I must speak of the past to her, of what might 
have been. She will tell me truth. Then I will go and 
vex her no more. ’ ’ 

The next morning’s post brought Been a letter from 
her husband. It was rather more gracious than the last, 
and gave his consent to her plans for Cecil. ‘ ‘ Since you 
are determined to turn him into a genius, ’ ’ he wrote, ‘ ‘ I 
should prefer the metamorphosis being performed out of 
my house. Remember, however, that I wish the scale 
of his expenses for the next four years to be kept within 
a certain limit, which I shall fix on my return. Mean- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


269 

while, I do not object to the terms of the school you 
mention ; so you can arrange the affair as soon as you 
like. 

“We have had excellent weather, and the fiords are, 
some of them at least, a dream of beauty. At Copen- 
hagen most of Sherrard’s friends left us. We are now 
going up the Baltic, and intend taking in Stockholm on 
our homeward voyage. Send your letters, as usual, to 
the Bank,” etc. 

This epistle cheered Deen. At all events, justice 
would be done to Cecil. Horace would become accus- 
tomed to a certain outlay upon him, and all would go 
well. 

She determined to lose no time in placing him at 
school, and, with Miss Thorpe, went for a couple of days 
to Brighton to see the school and its entourages. 

During her absence Cecil had fine times. General 
Jeffries bought him various toys, and gave him a daily 
lesson in backgammon. 

His aunt softened the severity of a drive or walk with 
her by gifts of chocolates and cocoanut goodies. And, 
before and above everything. Hay took him out each 
afternoon for a sail in old Cringle’s boat. 

A few days after Deen’s return from Brighton General 
and Mrs. Jeffries’ visit came to an end, as they were en- 
gaged to pass some time with the General’s brother, a 
naval officer holding a command at Portsmouth. Then 
Deen had decided to take Miss Thorpe and Cecil to 
school, and, having seen them settled, to return to Lin- 
den Gardens and await Merivale’s arrival. 

“I’ll get settled in town as soon as I have tried a 
course at Vichy,” said the General, as he bade his hostess 
farewell. “ I’ 11 have a good spell at the book this winter. 


270 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


Perhaps get it out by spring. By Jove ! it will open 
some people’s eyes.” 

“I think dear Cecil is a good deal improved in 
manner, since we were down here,” murmured Mrs. 
Jeffries. ” His father will be delighted, I am sure.” 

“No doubt,” returned Deen, blandly. “ I hope you 
will have a pleasant journey. ’ ’ 

Having “speeded the parting guest,” Mrs. Merivale 
deeply enjoyed the harmonious tranquillity of the next 
couple of days. The weather was fine and all discor- 
dant elements were absent. With the help of her young 
friend. Miss Thorpe, she made out a list of all Cecil 
could possibly need, and despatched it to the house in 
London which usually supplied him, so as to obviate any 
necessity for his return to London. 

Cecil himself, fortified by the knowledge that Miss 
Thorpe was to be with him, offered no objection to a 
temporary separation from his darling mother. 

The third day after General and Mrs. Jeffries’ depart- 
ure was exceptionally fine, but with a delightful touch 
of freshness in the air, and in the afternoon Hay pre- 
sented himself, with a request that they all three would 
accompany him in a sail round the eastern headland. 

This was at once granted, and Deen added a sugges- 
tion that the pony carriage should meet them at a cer- 
tain fishing village at a little distance along the coast, 
lest the shades of night should overtake them at sea. 

Preparations were soon made, and a few delightful 
hours ensued. 

“ Do not be so restless, Cecil,” said Deen, who feared 
he might go overboard. ‘ ‘ Come and sit by me. I want 
you to sing Mr. Hay a song. The one I taught you 
last week, ‘ The Sailor Boy.’ Miss Thorpe will help you. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 271 

It is a pretty simple ballad, and I want you to hear my 
boy, Mr. Hay.” 

Miss Thorpe at once began, and soon Cecil joined in, 
his shrill, sweet, true notes making themselves distinctly 
heard. 

“Bravo, my boy!” cried * Hay. “Now give us 
another. Can you sing ‘ Rule Britannia’ ?’ ’ 

“ Oh, no, I cannot sing that ; but I can sing the even- 
ing hymn and ‘ Abide with Me. ’ ’ ’ 

Once set going Cecil was ready to give them all his 
repertoire till the closing day, the soft silence of the 
water disposed him to sleep, and Deen was glad when 
they landed and she found him nestling to her side, under 
her cloak, in the pony carriage. 

A dainty high tea awaited them, after which Cecil was 
glad to go to bed, and Miss Thorpe disappeared with 
him. 

‘ ‘ Will you be gracious enough to complete the delight 
of this delightful evening by playing some of the old 
music ?’ ’ said Hay. 

“ I will, for I love it myself.” She rose and led the 
way into the next room. 

A couple of soft lamps stood on the mantelpiece. 
The other end of the room was in shadow. 

‘ ‘ Cis has a sweet little voice, has he not ?’ ’ asked 
Deen, as she opened the piano. 

“Yes. He will be a singer like his father,” said 
Hay. 

“ I do trust he may. It will draw his father to him 

more than anything else. It may make him believe ’ ’ 

She stopped abruptly. 

“ That the boy’s upper story is all right?” 

“Yes.” 


272 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


‘ ‘ I never knew of an imbecile singing ; but, I suppose, 
it is not impossible. ’ ’ 

Deen made no reply ; she sat down to the piano and 
began to play some of the old airs her companion loved. 

For some minutes Hay sat still ; then he moved 
nearer the window, and finally returned to his former 
place. 

“My music does not soothe you to-night,” said 
Deen, turning towards him. “ Is my playing at fault?” 

“ Your playing is always delightful ; but the last time 
your heart, your thoughts were away back in the past ; 
to-night, the present and future occupy you. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That is true, Douglas ; but how do you know ?’ ’ 

“ I don’t know ; I feel.” 

‘ ‘ I should not have thought you were the sort of man 
to have these intuitions. ’ ’ 

“ No ; you always thought me a commonplace sort of 
fellow. In fact, the gift of words has been denied to me, 
but I think a good deal. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ And when you do care t?o speak, your words are all 
your own. ’ ’ 

“ Thank you,” returned Hay, his big brown eyes soft- 
ening as he gazed upon her till his look was a caress. 
“Besides,” he resumed, “ I am thinking more of the 
future myself. Will it bore you very much if I talk of 
my future plans, or am I taking a liberty in thrusting my 
affairs on your notice ?’ ’ 

“Is it necessary to ask me such a question ? I shall 
be as ready to listen as I was in the old days. ’ ’ She. 
came and sat on a couch near him. 

There was a brief pause, and Hay began, — 

‘ ‘ When I came home, the other day, I thought it was 
for good ; but, after feeling rather restless and dying to 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


273 


see England again (for you know I have never taken 
leave since you sent me off), I found that I was like a 
fish out of water. I missed my work, I missed the 
people I used to revile and swear at, and I fancy I missed 
my own importance. In India I was an English sahib. 
In London I was nobody, — merely a number in the big 
hotels. I began to plan distant travels, when I had a 

message from G , the under Secretary at the India 

Office, asking me to call. This was to ascertain if I 
would stay on for two or three years longer in my old 
district, as they were being stirred up by an infernal 
fanatical saint of some kind, and I was more likely to 
manage them than a stranger. Well, I jumped at the 
offer, and Fll start in November.” 

“Are you sure, Douglas, that you are sufficiently 
braced up to return so soon to that climate ?’ ’ 

“The climate is not bad, or I should not have stood 
it so well or so long. What I am troubling my mind 
about is, I do not want to go back alone.” 

“What!” said Deen, smiling kindly on him. “Do 
you mean you wish to marry ?’ ’ 

“ Yes ; I am driven to this at last. It is not good for 
man to live alone ; I know it isn’t.” 

‘ ‘ If you could only get the right person, it would be 
your best plan ; but do not be in a hurry. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ One must take one’ s chance in such an affair ; rea- 
son has nothing to do with it. Fancy, attraction, fate, — 
these are the factors ; and I am cursed with a horrible 
disinclination to fall in love. ’ ’ 

“ That is very unfortunate for your future wife.” 

“Yes ; isn’t it ? And in asking her to come with me 
so far, I am asking a great deal. Well, you know — you 
must know — I could never love twice as I loved you. 

18 


274 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


You satisfied my heart and soul and senses. My God ! 
how heavenly sweet it was to be with you in the old times, 
when I fancied you returned my love ! but I don’t think 
you ever really did ; eh, Been ?’ ’ 

She did not answer directly. She clasped her hands 
round her knee and gazed intently into the dusk, as if 
recalling visions of the past. 

‘ ‘ Douglas, ’ ’ she said, at last, ‘ ‘ I loved you very, very 
much. You do not know, and I can hardly tell how 
bitter it was to let you go. I know you misunderstood 
me, too, and I could not put myself right. You thought 
I did not care enough for you to face rough beginnings. 
You little knew ! Suppose I had been ready to go with 
you to India, — to leave my father, to whom I was all the 
world, who not only loved me myself, but loved my 
mother over again in me, — to leave him ill, weakly, poor, 
unable to pay even for such attendance as hirelings give, 
— do you think I should have made you a loving, self- 
sacrificing wife ? It was, indeed, bitter to let you go ; 
but, Douglas, I have never regretted doing so. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I seem able to understand you now better than I 
used to. I was so infernally jealous of your father. 
Why — why did you marry Merivale ? He is not a bit 
suited to you.” 

“ Then I must suit myself to him,” said Been, quietly. 

‘ ‘ Mr. Merivale, like most men, has little peculiarities, 
which some people do not like, but pray remember he 
chose me when he might have picked a wife among 
the highest in the land. He has been unboundedly 
generous, and if for the moment we differ about his boy, 
that will pass, shall pass. Now, dear old friend, tell me, 
have you seen any woman, any girl who seems to you 
possible as a wife ?’ ’ 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


275 


Well, yes ; she reminds me a little of you, — not in 
looks, but in her cast of mind. You have seen her, but 
I doubt if you remember her.” 

‘ ‘ What is her name ?’ ’ 

“ Middleton. She is the sister of ” 

‘ ‘ I know !’ ’ cried Deen. ‘ ‘ I remember meeting her 
at Mrs. Jeffries’s just before Cis was taken ill. I quite 
took a fancy to her. There is a sort of harmony in her 
voice and speech and manner. This is, of course, a 
mere impression. Have you seen much of her?” 

“Yes, fairly well for London in the season. You see, 
when her brother was travelling in India, he used to stay 
with me off and on, and we became rather chums. Now 
he wants to be off to China via Siberia, and I can see his 
sister feels herself something of an impediment, — that 
put it into my head. But now I have talked to you 
again, how dare I ask for her love, when I have none to 
give in return. ’ ’ 

“Do not be too sure. You see my love and faith 
belong to my husband, and though the memory of our 
old days is very sweet, the love of those days is gone 
from me forever. Go and see the woman who has 
touched your heart. You are going, are you not? You 
are not in a mood to be carried away. If she responds, 
your heart will go out to her, and soon you will forget 
you ever loved any one else. God send you happy sun- 
set days yet, dear old friend !” said Deen, holding out 
her hand to him as she rose, and leaving it in his grasp 
for a moment, she murmured, ‘ ‘ Good-night, ’ ’ and dis- 
appeared. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A WEEK later saw the little party which had so much 
enjoyed the simplicity and tranquillity of their seaside 
life dispersed and the house shut up. 

Douglas Hay left for Scotland a couple of days after 
his confidential talk with Deen, taking with him her 
loving good wishes. Then came the great event of 
Cecil’s child-life. Escorted by his step-mother and gov- 
erness, he was taken to school. 

On the whole, he rather liked the notion of learning 
and playing with other boys ; the presence of Miss Thorpe, 
too, was a great consolation ; but when the moment came 
to say good-bye to “ Mother,” he quite broke down. 

“You will not stay away long,” he sobbed. “You 
will come again soon. Oh ! do, do, do^ 

Deen felt the child’s grief profoundly, but she knew 
that to-morrow would find him consoled and happy. 
Still her own tears rose to her eyes as she kissed her 
hand to him from the carriage window, and drove off to 
the station. Never in all her after-life did Deen forget 
the desolation of her return to Linden Gardens, the ex- 
traordinary sense of homelessness which oppressed her. 

Everything was in good and ornamental order. She 
was, indeed, grateful for the sort of suppressed welcome 
given by the undemonstrative London servants ; but it 
was borne in upon her that her objects in life — life that 
used to seem so full to her— were reduced to one, and 
that her husband’s detested, misunderstood son. 

276 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


277 


September, especially the beginning of September, is 
perhaps the period when London is most deserted. And 
Been, looking round for some one or something to break 
the monotony of her solitude, found only the echo of 
resounding emptiness. 

‘ ‘ I must let the bank people know I am in town, ’ ’ she 
thought, as she sat down to her writing-table, after her 
quickly despatched breakfast. “Not that I suppose 
they have any letters for me. First for my promised 
letter to Cis and to Miss Thorpe. Then I will see what 
novelties I can find at Mudie’s. No resource can quite 
equal books when one is low and lonely. ’ ’ 

She had not quite accomplished her letter to Miss 
Thorpe when the second post brought her one forward 
by the postmaster at Westerton. 

She was puzzled by the writing of the address ; it was 
unfamiliar, yet not quite strange. The postmark was 
Stockholm; seeing this Deen opened it in haste; glancing 
at the signature, she read with surprise, ‘ ‘ G. Sherrard. ’ ’ 
That he should write to her was extraordinary. 

“A letter from me will surprise you,” it began. “ I 
write at Merivale’s request, as he has had a slight acci- 
dent to one of his eyes, — the right, — which obliges him 
to give his pen to me. We had just come in here, and 
Merivale was watching the men aloft when a piece of 
rope fell from above and struck his eye. This has 
caused him a good deal of pain and inflammation. We 
have attended to it as best we can, and rigged up a 
shade. He is still rather uncomfortable ; so as soon as 
we have had a look round here we are on to Kronstadt, 
and from there will make away straight for home. Meri- 
vale begs you will meet him in town, where we hope to 
find you between the twentieth and twenty-fifth. I hope 


278 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


you will not worry yourself over this mischance, as it is 
really of no importance.” 

Deen, however, did disturb herself a good deal. The 
eye was such a delicate organ, she had heard of such 
grave effects resulting from apparently slight injuries to 
it, that she could think of nothing else. 

She wrote a line to the manager of Merivale’s bank, 
in case Sherrard had neglected to let him know; then she 
ordered the carriage and drove to a great oculist’s house 
to ascertain if he were in town. 

His servant reported that he was at Rogat, but that 
Dr. Ambrose had charge of his practice during his ab- 
sence, and received patients every morning till one 
o’ clock. 

Then there was nothing to do but to wait, which was 
weary work. Deen tried to fill up the time by seeing 
to all the preparations for her husband’s reception and 
comfort she could possibly think of. She did not per- 
mit herself the solace of writing to her few intimates to 
ask their sympathy. She knew well Merivale’s pas- 
sionate horror of being suspected of failure or imper- 
fection in any shape or form. Pity, whether compas- 
sionate or contemptuous, was an intolerable insult. To 
be happy it was necessary to Merivale that all the world 
should be in an attitude of respect and admiration to- 
wards him. If this trifling accident, as it seemed, caused 
even a temporary eclipse of his social fitness, Deen 
well knew what keen suffering it would cause him. 

She therefore kept both her tongue and her pen quiet, 
and waited more or less restlessly, according to her 
physical mood. 

The twentieth had come and gone, and the twenty- 
fourth was with her. Each day an extra dainty dinner 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


279 


had been prepared and, in Deen’s estimation, wasted. 
Yet still she waited. On this evening Been had estab- 
lished herself in the elegant desolation of the drawing- 
room, knowing that the charm of snugness had never 
been revealed to her husband. 

The room was at the back of the house, and the 
noises of the road in front were seldom heard there. She 
had been speaking to the highly respectable, confidential 
butler, telling him she did not intend retiring to rest till 
late, and desiring that the house should not be shut up, 
when sounds of voices and a movement reached her 
from below. 

Been started up, and the next moment Merivale ap- 
peared, looking very white and weary, but, by the some- 
what dim lamp-light. Been did not see anything appar- 
ently wrong about his eyes. Yet there was a little hesi- 
tation about his movements, an absence of the usual 
firm dignity in his step that suggested infirmity, and 
Been’s heart went out to him with sudden, tender 
sympathy. 

‘ ‘ Horace ! My dear husband ! I am so thankful 
you have come. I expected you sooner.” 

There was indescribable tremulous tenderness in her 
tone, and Merivale instinctively stretched out his hands 
to her. 

He was inexpressibly worn out and depressed by the 
increasing discomfort of his eye. If this was to con- 
tinue, life was over for him. The sound of his wife’s 
welcome was indeed refreshing to him, and he held her 
hands for a minute in silence. 

“ The weather broke soon after we left Stockholm,” 
put in Sherrard, who had watched this meeting with a 
curious mixture of envy and annoyance. “We have 


28 o 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


had a deuced bad time of it. Of course, Merivale was 
not first-rate, and not being able to look about him has 

got into the down-belows, but ’ ’ 

“ I am sure you have done your best for him, Mr. 
Sherrard,” interrupted Deen. “You must both need 
dinner and a little champagne. Go to your dressing- 
room, Horace, everything is ready. Rogers — to the 
butler — see that Mr. Sherrard has all he wants. We 
will dine as soon as your master is ready. ’ ’ 

Merivale could eat but little, and was extremely silent. 
He was not irritable, nor did he speak with his usual 
tone of quiet, supreme superiority, he seemed absorbed 
by something far away from the present. Deen was in- 
expressibly touched, yet she told herself that he was 
unnecessarily alarmed about his eye. If it was the acci- 
dent to it which troubled him, so slight an injury would 
soon yield to skilful treatment. 

“ Pray send a line to Critchett to-night, Deen,” said 
Merivale, rousing up a little when he had taken some 
champagne. “ Ask for an appointment to-morrow. He 
could wire to me the first thing.” 

‘ ‘ I will write, Horace, but I am sorry to say he is not 
in town. However, he has left a very competent man 
in charge of his patients. I have inquired about him 
and he seems to have a high reputation.” 

“ I do not like the idea of trusting myself to any one 
but Critchett,” said Merivale, complainingly. 

“My dear fellow, you only want a little advice at 
present ; probably you will never want anything more,” 
said Sherrard in a soothing voice. 

Merivale made no reply, and Sherrard continued to 
talk on, describing their exploits and experiences ; but 
the host took no part in the conversation. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


281 

At last Sherrard rose. “I think, Mrs. Merivale, our 
invalid ought to go to bed. We had various rough 
nights before reaching terra firma, and a good rest will 
be your husband’s best preparation for his interview with 
the oculist to-morrow,” he said. 

“You are right, I am sure,” returned Been, where- 
upon Sherrard took his leave and Merivale accepted his 
wife’s arm to the foot of the stairs. “That is enough, 
thank you, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ I am not blind yet. ’ ’ 

“I trust there is no fear of that, dear,” she replied, 
cheerfully. ‘ ‘ I will come and see that you are comfort- 
ably settled. You look quite worn out.” 

Having got into her dressing gown and heard her hus- 
band’ s valet go downstairs, Been went in to say good- 
night. A lamp carefully shaded gave a dim light. 
Merivale lay partly on his side, his arms lying in a help- 
less way beside him. 

“ Is that you. Been?” 

“Yes; are you comfortable? Would you like another 
pillow ?’ ’ 

“No, I am all right. But I have forgotten to ask 
Sherrard to come here to-morrow morning. He did say 
he would come with me to the doctor.” 

Been sat down by the bed and took the hand which 
lay next her. 

“Will you not take me with you, Horace? I shall 
want to know what Br. Ambrose says, what treatment 
he recommends. Moreover, I shall want to assist in 
carrying it out. Mr. Sherrard is not the kind of man 
to give much heed to what a doctor says, and though 
anxious about you, cannot feel the vital interest I do. 
Let me come with you, my dear husband. She bent 
over and kissed his brow. 


282 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


Merivale made no attempt to return the caress, but he 
did not withdraw his hand. 

‘ ‘ I said he should come with me and I do not like to 
change. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I will write to him and excuse you. Do not refuse 
me, Horace. I shall be wounded if you do, and no one 
will lay the doctor’s directions so carefully to heart as I 
shall ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I believe that. ’ ’ He pressed her hand slightly. 

‘ ‘ Where is — that boy ?’ ’ 

“Cecil? He is safe at school near Brighton. You 
need not see him till Christmas, nor then if you would 
rather not. ’ ’ 

Write to Sherrard if you like, be very civil. Now I 
will try to sleep. I’ve had very little of late. Good- 
night, Deen, I believe your intentions are excellent. ’ ’ 

Deen could not command her voice to answer this cold 
commendation. Still she was grateful even for so much, 
and having rearranged his pillow she left him, as she 
hoped, to sleep. 

She herself lay long awake. It seemed absurd to be 
so depressed by so comparatively disproportioned a 
cause. People have had their eyes knocked and black- 
ened, and generally maltreated, and yet after a while the 
wound or bruise passed away and left no ill effects be- 
hind. Merivale was a remarkably healthy man. Care- 
ful of himself, and fastidious to a degree, everything was 
in his favour. Why did she torment herself ? To this 
query there was no answer. But still, visions of the 
bitterness which lay before her poor, proud, vain husband 
in a life of absolute dependence — if such was to be his 
lot — oppressed her heart. To him, the most devoted 
care, the tenderest attention, would bring no balm. The 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


283 


infinite atonement of love had no charm for him, only ad- 
miring adoration could satisfy, only the unstinted ac- 
knowledgment of his great superiority could content. 

Merivale, always an early riser, was up as usual next 
morning, and Deen found him awaiting her in the 
breakfast-room. 

Seen by daylight, she immediately perceived that the 
eye looked dim and weak, and his brow was contracted 
as if in pain. 

Though very grave, he seemed less depressed than 
the night before, while his air and manner expressed the 
same curiously suppressed mood, as if waiting for some- 
thing that struck Deen the night before. 

He did not attempt to look at the paper, and Deen, 
knowing his peculiarities, hesitated as to offering herself 
as a reader. At last she took it up, as if solely for her- 
self, and read some items of news as though she would 
consult him. To this he responded, and made a few 
observations. Then he took up a letter or two which 
lay unopened on the table. 

‘ ‘ I suppose, I hope, this weakness of my right eye is 
but temporary,” he said ; “but I cannot make out what 
Dent writes. ’ ’ Dent was the manager, under himself, of 
the head branch of the bank. 

Deen hesitated. She was ready to do anything, but 
feared to seem intrusive. 

‘ ‘ If the subject is not a business secret, could I read 
it to you ?’ ’ she asked. 

‘ ‘ Thank you, I should be obliged. 

So Deen read. It was nothing of importance, yet 
showed how complete Merivale’ s supervision of his busi- 
ness was. 

After breakfast he sat still and unemployed for a consid- 


284 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


erabletime. Then he said, rather abruptly, “As, perhaps, 
I had better not try my eyes unnecessarily, perhaps you 
would be so good as to write a letter or two for me ?’ ’ 

“You know, I am only too glad to serve you in any 
way,” returned Deen, an indescribable quiver of feeling 
in her voice. 

“Thank you,” said Merivale. 

The letters finished, and some entries made in his 
journal, it was time to go to the oculist. 

At the idea of this interview Deen trembled. The 
aspect of the ‘ ‘ Hakeem’ ’ was cheerful. He seemed to 
know who Merivale was, and was kind and encouraging. 
He asked many questions, and prescribed a lotion to be 
dropped into the eye three times a day. Then he 
begged his patient to come again in a week’s time, and, 
with many encouraging expressions, dismissed him. 

Merivale went on to the city, and Deen to a well- 
known chemist, to procure the remedy prescribed. 
Sherrard looked in to ask the result of Merivale’ s inter- 
view with the oculist, and Deen, anxious to divert her 
husband, pressed him to dine. To this he consented. 
So the first of many similar days passed over, and both 
husband and wife waited more or less patiently for an 
improvement which never came. 

Laura Darrell returned in an exceedingly bad temper 
from her cruise in “ High Latitudes.” 

The expedition had not been at all to her taste, and 
an originally dim perception was beginning to grow 
clearer and clearer, that Sherrard had been making “a 
cat’s-paw of her.” 

She could not quite make out his motive ; but he 
certainly wished to estrange Merivale from his wife, and 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


285 


used herself as an instrument to that end. The more 
she reflected, the more convinced she was of this ; also 
the idea that he only cared for her to make use of her 
would obtrude itself, though she tried to cast it from her, 
and accept the counters of careless compliments and an 
occasional caress as true coin. 

She was a very unlucky little woman, many a one, not 
one whit better or purer than herself, had floated into 
pleasant, nay high places, where personal consideration 
and social success awaited them. These things had al- 
ways come near her, but always eluded her grasp. 

The fascinations which Sherrard had exercised upon 
her had been very fatal. His strength and selfishness 
enslaved her ; and she was still more unfortunate in hav- 
ing possessed, for a while, and even after its intervals, a 
certain degree of charm for him, which she imagined 
much stronger than it really was. 

For some time she considered Sherrard too poor to be 
a husband ; that was when she tried hard to fascinate 
Merivale, whom she rather despised as a dilettante fine 
gentleman. After he married, she began to calculate on 
the possibilities of Sherrad’s nephew and ward, a delicate 
lad, ‘ ‘ making room for his uncle. ’ ’ Sherrard was never 
confidential ; but Mrs. Darrell instinctively knew that he 
counted on this as a very possible bit of luck. By de- 
grees her hopes became centred on Sherrard. She was 
a passionate, weak woman, and would have gone to the 
death for this harsh, merciless man, who had mastered 
her so completely. 

It is hard to say how she came to imagine Sherrard 
would ever marry her ; but she did so deceive herself. 
Under this impression she became very careful of her 
reputation and cultivated women, much more than at the 


286 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


outset of her London career. Mrs. Merivale had been 
very useful to her. Her backing-up had been of great 
importance, and led to the making of many distinguished 
acquaintances. Yet she had a curious jealousy of Deen ; 
she had an unaccountable degree of importance in Sher- 
rard’s eyes, whether she called forth liking or disliking, 
it annoyed Laura Darrell. 

A week had passed, and she had neither seen nor 
heard from Sherrard since he had taken her ashore in 
the dusk of the evening, as soon as they had anchored 
at Harwich, and started her off by a late train. She was 
irritated and uneasy, and had written half in anger; half 
in entreaty, asking if she was never to hear what was 
going on. A day had passed since, and no reply had 
reached her. Now she paced to and fro in the twilight, 
almost afraid of the future, and feeling she had been a 
fool for playing into Sherrard’ s hands for inadequate 
remuneration when some one came into the room. 
Some one took her hands and kissed them. 

‘ ‘ Graf, you startled me. I thought I was never to see 
you again.” 

” Nonsense ! You know very well I can never keep 
away long. Now I have come laden with news ; first, 
however, for yours ! Have you been to offer condo- 
lence to Mrs. Merivale ?’ ’ 

” Who? Me? No ! How could I have the face to 
do so, considering — that letter. ’ ’ 

“ I do not really believe it ever fell into her hands. 
No woman could have held her tongue about it. Go, 
but put on a bold face. You have, of course, just re- 
turned from France and heard of Merivale’ s eye trouble, 
— so called to enquire. ’ ’ 

” Frankly, Graf, I cannot ^ — not just yet at least.” 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


287 

“Then you had better not do it at all. If you delay, 
you’ll destroy all chances of making a coup.’’ 

“Tell me, How did Merivale and his wife meet?’’ 

Like a pair of turtle-doves ; at any rate she was 
tender and affectionate, because he looked deucedly 
seedy. I am afraid his eyes are going to be a bad busi- 
ness. I interviewed the oculist, and find he is afraid 
he’ll lose the use of both eyes, sympathy between the 
injured and the uninjured optic. I always distrusted 
sympathy, it only drags you down into other people’s 
holes, as well as your own.’’ 

“ Do you think he will become quite blind?’’ 

“ Looks like it.’’ 

‘ ‘ Good heavens, Graf ! what a terrible sort of crea- 
ture to have on one’s hands. 

“And what a lucky devil,’’ cried Sherrard, “ to be on 
the hands of such a woman. ’ ’ 

“You have a great admiration for Mrs. Merivale, 
Graf!’’ 

“I’m not sure. In some ways she is a sort of woman 
a man might go mad about ; in others, she irritates one. 
She is no fool, and can stand to her guns, yet there’s a 
dash of the saint in her. In short, I can’t make her 
out. At any rate, Merivale is inclined to despair of 
himself. He even talks of turning his bank into a joint 
stock concern. He says he will not take risks he cannot 
control. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ What I give up his source of wealth ?’ ’ 

“You may be very sure he’ll not lose by the meta- 
morphosis. The shares will sell like wild-fire. I’ll have 
some myself.’’ 

‘ ‘ Where will you get the money, Graf ?’ ’ 

“ Oh, I’ll manage somehow. Merivale is going off to 


288 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


Germany to see a famous man there, merely for an 
opinion. Of course, Madam goes with him. He may 
be trying and ungracious, but she will have the whip- 
hand now if things come to the worst. What a business 
it will be to amuse him and keep up his spirits. Still, he 
shows more pluck than I expected. He has a back- 
bone, though he is such a dainty, delicate, fine gentle- 
man. ’ ’ ^ 

“ Will you dine with me, Graf, to-day ?” 

“ No ! I can’t ! I am sorry to say.” 

“Why !” 

‘ ‘ Because I must take the seven o’ clock express to 
Chessington. Just had a telegram from that poor young 
Sherrard. He is very ill.” 

‘ ‘ Graf, ’ ’ starting up and clasping her hands, ‘ * will 
he die ?’ ’ 

“ Well, I rather think so. ’ 

“ And you will have everything at last. How can you 
keep so cool about it. ’ ’ 

“You see, I am accustomed to the idea. Have you 
to-day’s paper?” She handed him Morning Post. 
He glanced through the columns. “ No mention of his 
attack ; socially, of course, he did not exist. Look 
here among the deaths, Mrs. Groyne, at Lousanne. 
That’s Merivale’s mother-in-law. She has had a bad 
time of it.” 

“ Oh, I do not care. I am so taken up with the great 
change that’s coming to you. Now, Graf, I shall know 
if you are a true man. ’ ’ 

“ Yes ! you’ll find you’ll have a fairly good banker ; 
eh, my dear little woman. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ What are your plans, Graf ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ My plans ? Oh, of course, I have been managing 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


289 


the property with a view to this contingency. So Til 
not have much trouble, and as soon as we have got 
through the formalities, I think of starting on a three 
years’ tour round the world. I am sick of London, and 
London has had quite enough of me. Then I’ll be quite 
a new thing when I come back, or as good as new. ’ ’ 

“ Three years away, Graf. !’ ’ cried the unhappy woman, 
turning deadly white ; “and, oh, what — what am I to 
do?’’ 

‘ ‘ Do ? Enjoy yourself, I hope, and I shall be very 
glad to help you to that end.’’ 

“Oh, my God ! — then you do not love me? Not a 
bit, Graf.?’’’ 

“Yes, I do. I love you a great deal too well to 
marry you. You surely never supposed I would marry 
any one, Laura ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I think you have occasionally hinted you might marry 
some one.” 

‘ ‘ What ! do you mean to say I am the sort of fellow 
that would ‘ hint’? You know perfectly, I always speak 
out, as I do now, when I say the woman has never 
been born that would tempt me into the bonds of wed- 
lock. Though that is no reason why I should not be a 
useful friend.” 

Mrs. Darrell made no reply ; she sat silent and still as 
though turned to stone. Then starting to her feet she 
exclaimed, in a tone of suppressed fury, — 

‘ ‘ Graf. , you are false as hell !’ ’ 

“ Or as true,” he returned, and with a polite bow he 
left the room. ’ ’ 


19 


CHAPTER XX 


The succeeding weeks flew past with the slow swift- 
ness of absolute monotony. A weekly visit to the great 
oculist, a daily drive in the least frequented suburbs, a 
long reading of the papers morning and evening, to 
which Merivale listened in deadly silence, a silent dinner, 
and a few fruitless efforts to converse afterward, made up 
the history of their days. 

Been would have been thankful for the presence of 
Sherrard if he could have roused her husband from the 
sort of torpor which was creeping over him, but the 
death of his nephew and his succession to the title and 
estates kept him a good deal occupied and out of town. 

Most faithfully did Been attend to the dropping of 
the prescribed lotion into the eye affected, the applica- 
tion of leeches to the temples, and bore the ungracious im- 
patience of the sufferer with infinite tenderness and pity. 

Nothing, however, seemed to retard the diminution of 
sight, and hope was fading fast, when the fame of a 
great German oculist reached Been’s ears, and she 
begged Merivale to try what he could do for him. 

Merivale rather caught at the idea, and though autumn 
was now advanced they lost no time in starting for 
W n. 

At first Merivale seemed slightly more hopeful, and 
persisted in seeing the doctor alone. He even asked his 
wife to play the accompaniment of one of his songs 
while he sat by the fire and sang in a dreamy manner. 

290 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


291 


“Even if your sight is impaired, Horace,” she said, 
coming over to sit beside him, “your voice is as charm- 
ing as ever. You can still enjoy music and give enjoy- 
ment to others. ’ ’ 

“And be pitied as a poor blind man ! No, if I do 
not recover my sight, I shall turn my back on society 
forever. I will not go about a pensioner on the com- 
passion of my fellow-creatures.” 

‘ ‘ I will not listen to such an intention, ’ ’ she exclaimed, 
earnestly ; “a blind man does not deserve compassion 
one- half so much as a deaf one. You will have me to 
read and play to you, and be the connecting link be- 
tween you and the world ; you cannot doubt my readi- 
ness to devote myself to your service. ’ ’ 

“No,” returned Merivale, thoughtfully, “you will 
never fail in your duty ; but there is unfortunately a vein 
of doggedness in your character that will not allow you 
to admit yourself wrong.” 

“ If this is so,” she said, gently, “ I will endeavor to 
correct so great a fault. I will look severely and im- 
partially into myself and find out my weak points. ’ ’ 

There was a pause, then Merivale said in a low tone, 

‘ ‘ Play to me. ’ ’ His love of music was genuine, so it 
soothed him. 

A day or two afterwards the post brought a letter to 
Deen from Douglas Hay. It was dated from London, and 
told her that he had taken her advice. ‘ ‘ I have told Ella 
Middleton the story of my life,” he wrote, “and she 
has deigned to take me such as I am. She is infinitely 
good, and already I feel more of sunshine in my life than 
I have known for many a day. What a guardian angel a 
sweet, strong woman makes. I wish Ella had an oppor- 
tunity of knowing you. That, I fear, is now impossible. 


292 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


We are to be married on the fifteenth and start from 
the church-door for India. Meantime a rumour has 
reached me that, through some accident, Merivale’s eyes 
have been greatly affected. I trust in God this is but 
temporary. It would be a heavier trial to you than to 
him were it to prove serious. How blest he is in any 
case to have such a companion ; you indeed would be 
eyes to the blind. Send me a few lines in reply to this, 
and I shall not trouble you again. There is but one 
drawback at present to my outlook. I fear Ella’s health 
may not stand India. I am only going back for five 
years, however, and hope that she will be able to stay 
so long.” 

The letter ended with a friendly message to Merivale, 
and Been was careful to give him a summary of its con- 
tents. 

Merivale did not heed them much. 

They had been about three weeks at W n, when 

one afternoon Merivale returned from a visit to the 
oculist. It was a bright, warm Indian summer day. 
Been had taken a book into the garden, and was sitting 
on a seat which commanded a wide view of the river 
which rolled below and a range of blue hills beyond. 

The air was balmy and fragrant, and Been was thank- 
ful for the relief of an interesting volume. Presently 
she descried her husband approaching, and as he came 
nearer, leaning on the arm of his valet, she was struck 
by the ashen grey hue of his face, the fixed, despairing 
look in his eyes. 

“You can go,” said Merivale to his attendant, as he 
sank into the seat beside his wife. 

She looked at him in alarm. ‘ ‘ Are you very tired, 
Horace ?’ ’ she began. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


293 


“I have said good-by to the doctor,” he said, in a 
low monotonous tone, ‘ ‘ and left hope behind with him. 
It is as I feared some time ago; I am growing completely 
blind from traumatic ophthalmia. The last glimmer of 
light will soon fade from me. It is a cruel doom.” 

A sob rose in Deen’s throat as she passed her hand 
under his arm and pressed it to her. “ My love,” she 
murmured : ‘ ‘ my dear husband. ’ ’ Then she sat still 
and silent. 

“You had better buy me a dog and a string,” re- 
sumed Merivale, bitterly, ‘ ‘ and let me go round suppli- 
cating pity and endurance. ’ ’ 

“No, Horace, that will not be needed. I will take 
care — if you let me — that your house shall be as pleasant, 
your hospitality as much sought, your opinion as much 
considered as it has been. Your brain is as clear, your 
voice as delightful, and your fortune as unimpaired as in 
the past. Let me help you to make your future as 
bright as the past, except for this deprivation. I am sure 
I can.” 

“Do not speak to me,” he said, brokenly. “Give 
me your arm ; lead me to the house. I must be led 
now and always. I feel strangely exhausted. I will lie 
down and rest. Meantime make all preparations to start 
for home. I only want to get home to take measures to 
secure the money I can no longer guard or control. It 
only needs poverty to complete the curse ; give me your 
arm. ’ ’ 

They reached home, and Merivale seemed to live only 
with the object of forming his bank into a limited joint 
stock company, and arrange for gradually withdrawing 
his capital from it. 

This absorbing occupation did much to help him to 


294 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


regain a certain degree of resignation, or rather to form 
fresh habits of life. While the thoughtful care of his 
wife created an atmosphere round him of interest, occu- 
pation, and self-satisfaction, which he enjoyed as a 
matter of course without much warm gratitude. Yet 
not without a certain complaisance towards Deen as an 
article of intrinsic value, which did credit to the taste and 
discrimination of his choice. 

Nearly four years had elapsed and once more Douglas 
Hay strolled up Portland Place to call on his old ac- 
quaintance, General Jeffries, who resided in Park Square. 
It was early in the season, and Hay had only arrived in 
England the week before, and had been busy arranging 
divers business matters. 

“Yes, sir, the General is at home, but he does not see 
any one before luncheon,” was the reply to Hay’s in- 
quiries. 

“Take him my card ; he may make an appointment 
for me. Say I shall only be a few days in town. ’ ’ 

The servant came back almost immediately. 

“ Please walk in, sir.” 

Hay found the General much the same. A little 
stouter and redder than of old. 

“ By George, my dear fellow, I am right glad to see 
you. Hadn’ t a notion you’ d be home till next year. ’ ’ 

“I didn’t expect to be back so soon, I assure you. 
But my wife was very ill last autumn, and I was obliged 
to send her home and our little girl. They are down at 
Biarritz with Middleton. I did not like her to begin by 
facing an English winter. ’ ’ 

“You are right there. Gad, my first winter at home 
nearly finished me. Now you’ll stay to luncheon. 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


295 


Mrs. Jeffries would like to see you, and she’s out shop- 
ping or at church : one or the other line of worship.” 

They settled down to talk. The General had much to 
say about his book of reminiscences. 

It had had a great success, but had produced a small 
crop of actions for libel, which added largely to the popu- 
larity of the book. Unfortunately this ran away with 
most of the profits ; but he was now busy preparing a 
new edition in which most of the scandals were sup- 
pressed or explained away. 

Then luncheon was announced, and Hay received a 
cordial welcome from Mrs. Jeffries. The conversation 
soon turned on Merivale and his wife. 

Mrs. Jeffries deplored his loss of sight. “But my 
dear brother bears it like a saint. His patience and forti- 
tude are something wonderful, Mr. Hay. The Rev. Mr. 
Kettle, whose ministry I attend, says he would be indeed 
a Christian example, if his wife did not insist on keeping 
him plunged in worldliness. If they do not give the huge 
parties they used to, their small dinners and select recep- 
tions, where they have the most perfect chamber music, are 
quite famous. To sing at any of these gives any begin- 
ner a cachet^ which is a sure forerunner of success. Un- 
fortunately dear Geraldine” — Mrs. Jeffries was the only 
person who always gave Deen her full name — “ is sadly 
absorbed by the pomps and vanities of this life. She 
could not live without company. This makes it difficult 
for my poor brother to detach his mind from the vanities 
with which he is surrounded. Indeed, I seldom see him 
alone. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Blind or not, his company is doing splendidly. 
He’ll be richer than ever,” said the General. 

“ And all the more devoted to this world,” said Mrs. 


296 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


Jeffries. “ How did you get back before the end of your 
five years, my dear Mr. Hay ?’ ’ she continued. 

‘ ‘ Oh, the powers that be were very gracious ; my dis- 
trict was in good order, and my successor very much 
pleased to begin a year in advance. So here I am. 
Pray, are the Merivales in town?” 

“They are. They generally stay to the end of June. 
Then they go down to Larch Hill ; and even there they 
give strawberry parties, where every one is wild to be 
asked. I must say that, on the whole, I am rather disap- 
pointed with my sister-in-law. She does quixotic things. 
Do you remember a nice little woman, a Mrs. Darrell, 
a widow ? We were very kind to her. She was rather 
a favourite with my brother till a dreadful scandal oc- 
curred. Something upset her, I never knew what, and 
she took to alcoholism. We had quite a scene here, in 
this house, at dinner. She made an extraordinary attack 
on Lord Sherrard. Nobody ever saw her after that ex- 
cept Mrs. Merivale. She had lost money, I believe, and 
fell very low indeed. Poor creature ! she died last 
month, and somebody told me that Mrs. Merivale was 
with her to the last, — very well-meaning, no doubt, but 
most unwise. Lord Sherrard has never married. They 
tell curious stories of him; still he is well received,” etc. 
Mrs. Jeffries ran on with much gossip till Hay managed 
to escape. 

It was nearly three o’clock when he found himself in 
the open, and, reaching Marylebane Road, he paused, 
hailed a hansom, and ordered the driver to ‘ ‘ Linden 
Gardens, Kensington Gore.” 

” Don’t suppose I’ll find her, but I’ll try.” 

Mrs. Merivale, however, was at home, and he was 
shown into her special sitting-room. He found her look- 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


297 


ing paler and thinner than when they had last met, but 
her eyes were more restful, her expression calmer. She 
looked slightly the invalid, in a morning gown of soft, 
pale, lilac silk, abundantly trimmed with fine cream lace. 

Deen welcomed him with quiet cordiality. 

“ I am on the sick-list,” she said. “ I have had a bad 
cold, but I am not sorry : otherwise I should have missed 
you. Poor Mr. Merivale is reduced to going out with his 
secretary ! Now tell me about yourself, your wife, and 
your little daughter. I read of her arrival in the Times 
some two years ago. How charming it must be to have 
a little girl !” 

“We think so, at all events,” returned Douglas, his 
strong, brown face lighting up. “I hope to join my 
wife and daughter on Monday next, and then we shall all 
go north together.” 

“ So you have left India for good and all,” said Deen, 
after a little further talk. ‘ ‘ What shall you do to occupy 
yourself? Idleness would be very irksome after your 
busy life.” 

‘ ‘ I have bought some property just across the border, 
and intend to try for a seat in Parliament, — not that I 
have any ambition to become a distinguished politician, 
but on Indian questions I may be of some use. The mass 
of the members are densely ignorant of the vast country 
they govern. I know one corner of it, at least, and that 
is a clue to a good many. ^ ’ 

“ I shall watch your progress with interest.” 

There was a brief pause, then Hay said, in a lower 
tone, — 

‘ ‘ And may I ask how life goes with you ? I have heard 
of the sore loss which has fallen on your husband. ’ * 

‘ ‘ Life !’ ’ she echoed. ‘ ‘ Life has gone more friendly. 


298 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


The blow which has robbed my husband of so much has, 
in a way, restored us to each other. Helping him to 
find solace, even enjoyment, for him in his darkened ex- 
istence is an infinite pleasure to me ; and he, — although 
I only do my duty, — he thinks me not altogether an un- 
profitable servant. ’ ’ 

“He must be aware what a priceless treasure he pos- 
sesses. ’ ’ 

Deen laughed softly. ‘ ‘ At all events, he likes me to 
be always near him, which, of course, is a reward.” 

“I have just been to General Jeffries’ and there I 
heard of your goodness to a very unlucky little woman. 
I remember her well. ’ ’ 

“Ah, yes ! That is a sad, sad story. She was by no 
means all bad ; she was far more sinned against than 
sinning. I thank God I was able to be with her in her 
hour of need, and keep her from dying alone and in 
despair ! But it was a cruel ending. I have not yet got 
over it. ’ ’ 

“Was she a very true friend of yours ?” 

‘ ‘ Poor soul ! she was not even true to herself. She 
did not do me much harm. Can you dine with us, 
Douglas? Mr. Merivale would, I know, be so pleased 
to meet you again.” 

“ I should be delighted, only I want to get off on 
Thursday for Biarritz. I am feeling not a little restless, 
— for ‘ where my treasure is, there my heart is also. ’ ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I rejoice to see it, dear old friend. I look forward 
to knowing your wife. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ She knows you already. One question more. How 
is my friend Cecil ? Have you succeeded in drawing 
father and son together ?’ ’ 

“Ah! You have touched on the best bit of my 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


299 


whole story. Do you remember how Cis sang to us one 
evening at Westerton, just before we parted, and the 
hopes I built on the development of his voice ?’ ’ 

“I do.” 

“ Well, my boy did very well at school. I don’t mean 
to say he showed remarkable ability, but he was a simple, 
honest lad, and bore an excellent character. About a 
year ago I told Mr. Merivale, who has become a sort of 
musical patron, that I had found a boy with a charming 
voice; would he hear him sing ? My husband consented. 
Cis had been trained to sing sacred music, and sang 
very sweetly. When he had finished I said, ‘ It seems 
to me that at his 2,%^ you must have had much the same 
timbre de voixf ‘Yes,’ said my husband, ‘you are 
right; it was very like. ’ Then he asked the child, ‘ What 
is your name, my boy ?’ Poor Cis looked at me. I 
gave him a nod, and he said with a little hesitation, 

‘ Cecil Horace Merivale. ’ 

‘ ‘ There was a minute of dead silence. 

“Then Mr. Merivale said in a strange, altered voice, 

‘ You must sing to me again, but leave us now.’ Cecil 
ran off and there was another long silence. Then Mr. 
Merivale said, ‘ Are you there, Deen ? You say that boy 
is like me ?’ 

“ ‘Yes, very like you,’ I returned. 

“ ‘ Nature’s curious freaks might account for that ; but 
resemblance in the voice, too, looks like heredity. Could 
I have been wrong ? I must reflect. I must live over 
the painful past.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ God guide you aright, ’ was all I could reply. 

“We have never spoken on the subject since, but I 
can see he has accepted his son. He often makes him 
sing, and I think he is happier.” 


300 


THE STEP-MOTHER 


‘ ‘ This is, indeed, excellent news. I trust the boy will 
be a real good son X.o you. You have been more than a 
mother to him. Now, my dear old friend, I have tres- 
passed long enough. May I write and say how I find 
my treasures? I hope to see you again before long. 
But, however long or short our parting, you will be ever 
present to me as my Madonna, our blessed Lady of 
Pity. ’ ’ 

He bent to kiss her hand devoutly, and was gone. 


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rarely been written, with so fine a blending of the elements of reproach and con- 
demnation, rage and pity, sarcasm and pathos.” — Boston Courier. 


The Mighty Atom. 

I2mo. Red buckram, ^1.25 ; paper, 50 cents. 

“Such a book as ‘ The Mighty Atom’ can scarcely fail in accomplishing a vast 
amount of good. It should be on the shelves of every public library in England 
and America. Marie Corelli has many remarkable qualities as a writer of fiction. 
Her style is singularly clear and alert, and she is the most independent of thinkers 
and authors of fiction ; but her principal gift is an imagination which rises on a bold 
and easy wing to the highest heaven of invention.” — Boston Home Journal, 


Vendetta ; or, The Story of One Forgotten. 

l2mo. Buckram, ^i.oo. 

“ The story is Italian, the time 1884, and the precise stage of the acts, Naples, 
during the last visitation of the cholera. A romance, but a romance of reality. 
No mind of man can imagine incidents so wonderful, so amazing, as those of actual 
occurrence.” — Washington National Republican. 


ISSUED IN THE LOTOS LIBRARY. 

Jane. 

l6mo. Polished buckram, 75 cents. 

“ It is a sympathetic tale, full of admirable contrast between the old-fashioned 
and the new.” — Washington Times. 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. 



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